


Kyrie Eleison

by Tennyo



Series: In Dreams [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bottom Sam Winchester, Caring Gabriel, Castiel’s Grace is fading, Dean's bored, Demon Dean, Demon!Dean is a horndog, Dominant Gabriel, Hellhounds, I don't even know anymore at this point, Life in Hell, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Wing Kink, Mind Control, Musical References, Pegging, Post-Season/Series 09, Powerplay, Sam’s a mess, Tailor lingo, Threesome - F/F/M, Violence, blood and blood drawing, blowjob, hellhound training, random science mumbo-jumbo, related to the demon cure, reopening Heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 01:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean disappeared from his room in the Bunker, Sam’s been doing everything he can do to find his brother, with Gabriel’s help. Meanwhile, Castiel has been sequestered in Heaven to conserve his Grace and he’s in charge of the plan to reopen Heaven. Crowley is busy training Dean to be a proper knight of Hell. </p><p>Does Dean have a soul left to save? What will happen with Castiel’s failing Grace?</p><p>Post season 9, alternate season 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kýrie, eléison (Lord, have mercy)

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is the last part of the series, I’m no longer going to separate the ships. This is the home stretch, and can be considered alternate season 10.
> 
> CW/TW In this chapter: Mind control, lack of self-care/self-esteem, angel/human prejudice/slurs, brief oral sex (Gabe/Sam). If I forgot something, please let me know.

_Baby, don't understand_

_Why we can't just hold on to each others' hands_

_This time might be the last, I fear_

_Unless I make it all too clear_

_I need you so, oh, oh, ohh…_

— Mr. Mister, Broken Wings —

 

* * *

In a softly lit room, Dean stands on a small platform. Spine straight, shoulders back, eyes forward, he holds completely still. A small, thin man is kneeling at his side, making marks to what appears to be a half-finished black suit jacket. The man, with short, spiky blond hair, holds a piece of chalk and hums to himself as he stands up and fingers the fold of a lapel, brushing his fingers against Dean’s chest. In a corner of the room, in a plush armchair, Crowley reclines with a tumbler of Scotch, his jacket removed and shirt sleeves rolled up.

“Quit fussing with the lapels and get back to the darts.”

The blond sighs and steps around to Dean’s side. “If you’d let me vent the suit, the darts wouldn’t be such a problem.”

Swirling the drink in his hand, Crowley takes a sip before he replies, “You’ve measured every damn inch of his figure. Repeatedly. You really want to use vents?”

The blond tilts his head to the side, eyeing Dean’s hips and rear. “You have a point. But when he sits…”

“If he’s sitting down, he’s not doing his job properly. Now quit ogling and get back to basting.”

During all this, Dean doesn’t move once. After some more fussing over the cut of the jacket, the tailor says it’s ready to be taken off. With a quick order from Crowley, Dean shifts, raising his arms so that the item can be removed. Underneath the jacket Dean is wearing a black button-down shirt, neatly tucked into black slacks that have already been tailored to fit him, with a narrow cut.

While the tailor places the jacket on a form, Crowley gets out of his chair and stands before Dean, appraising him. With a gesture of the hand still holding his Scotch, he says, “Can you believe the last pair of trousers I saw him in were pleated?”

The other man visibly shudders before coming around with a flat box of folded ties. “I understand your fascination with all that black-on-black,” He eyes Dean up and down lasciviously, “but would you consider a splash of color with the necktie? I have a lovely burgundy—”

Crowley slaps the box from his hands, and the ties scatter on the floor in front of Dean. For the first time Dean moves of his own volition, as his green eyes scan the colorful strips of silk scattered across the floor before him. Crowley notices his eyes linger over a bright blue tie, and leans down to pick up a handful, blocking Dean’s view.

“If I want color, I’ll tell you.” He selects a charcoal gray brocade tie, holding it up to Dean’s shirt. “I think this one’ll do.”

He tosses the tie at the tailor. “Let me know when it’s finished.” Turning to Dean, he asks, “When’s the last time you actually wore a properly tailored suit?”

Dean looks at him blankly.

“You know, one that wasn’t bought off a rack?” Crowley raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to answer.

Dean blinks a couple of times before replying, “1944.”

Crowley throws up his hands, exasperated. “And yet I’m not surprised. Go get changed, we have places to be.”

With a nod, Dean heads to a curtained area to change clothes. He emerges wearing an olive drab henley with army green cargo pants. The tailor standing next to Crowley makes an appreciative noise, and grabs a leather jacket, holding it out to help Dean into it. As the smooth, chocolate brown leather slides over Dean’s shoulders, the tailor runs his hands down the jacket, before sweeping lower for a double handful of Dean’s ass. Before the smaller man can react, Dean’s eyes flash black, and he has the man pressed against a wall, hand to his neck, sneer on his lips.

“Now now,” Crowley says, resting a hand on Dean’s forearm. “Do you know how difficult it is to find a good tailor? Would be a shame to ruin this one, especially since he’s nearly finished with your suit.”

His hand squeezes tighter and there’s a glow from a metal bracelet on Dean’s wrist.

“Let him go, that’s a good boy. No need to murder the little poof.”

The tailor crumples to the floor as Dean’s grip loosens. Face once again impassive, he tugs on his jacket, straightening it. Crowley shakes his head before walking to the door.

“You insist on dressing like a serial killer, but must you act like one as well?” He turns in the doorway, an expectant look on his face. “Come along, places to be, people to see.”

Dean follows him out the door.

*****

In the Bunker’s library, Sam sits hunched over a laptop, the light from the screen throwing his features into sharp relief. It’s been five weeks since Dean died, then disappeared, and the time has not been kind. Sam’s lost weight, his face looks gaunt , and his bloodshot eyes have dark bags under them. His lanky hair is held off his forehead with a binder clip.

Rubbing his temples, he leans back from the laptop. Scattered across the desk is an assortment of papers, maps, and pens. On the other end of the desk is an odd looking radio, insides half exposed with wires and vacuum tubes sticking out at odd angles. He’s been looking for demonic signs, but it’s been oddly quiet lately.

Right after Abbadon’s death, there was a flurry of activity everywhere, as either the demons adapted to the latest regime change, or were slaughtered for their allegiance to the Queen of Hell. Since Dean’s disappearance, the activity has slowly lessened.

With the help of Gabriel, Sam has tried chasing down his brother. But whenever they get a sign, he’s either gone before they get there, or there’s someone with a hole in their gut left behind, traces of sulfur at the scene. So in spite of everything Sam has been trying to do, the search for Dean isn’t going well.

A staticky noise erupts from the radio, and Sam looks up to see the vacuum bulbs glowing softly. With a push of his legs, he rolls his chair over to that side of the desk and flips a switch. Leaning in to the radio, he says, “This is the bunker, come in?”

There's another burst of static, that almost sounds like a voice.

“Modulate your signal and repeat, over.”

Crackling  and then feedback squeals through the little speaker on the radio, before he hears a garbled voice say, “Sam?”

“You’re getting closer, try again, over.”

After a moment, a tinny voice cuts through static. “How’s this, can you hear me now?”

Sam sighs in relief. “Hey, Gabriel. I can hear you.”

Gabriel’s been up in Heaven the past couple of days, and Sam’s had to deal with an empty bunker ever since. The modified radios, a collaboration between Ash and the angel Neil, have allowed them to keep in contact while Gabe’s in Heaven. He’s been helping Cas coordinate a way to open Heaven back up while also helping Sam look for Dean.

“You find any new leads there, kiddo?” Gabe’s voice has an echo to it as it comes through the radio.

“No, and the last lead was a dead end.” Sam rolls his head back, feeling the tight muscles in his neck almost grind together.

“Well, I’ll be heading back soon, just  in time to make sure you eat something.”

Sam would sigh heavily over the comment, but he can’t remember when he last ate, now that he thinks about it. He figures he’ll go find some crackers to snack on until Gabe shows up. When he asks Gabe how the research for opening Heaven’s going, he gets a frustrated grunt and some mumbling about  egos and IQs. They’ve enlisted the help of a few select people in Heaven, as well as the few angels left who might have the expertise. Sam can’t really grasp the concept himself, he just knows it involves harmonics and lots of physics, and some extremely complicated math. After telling Gabe he’ll see him soon, Sam flips the switch on the radio, disconnecting the microphone and soon the radio goes silent, the glow of the vacuum tubes fading.

Stretching, Sam stands up and makes his way into the bunker’s kitchen. He hasn’t done much shopping lately, so it’s pretty bare. There's a couple of beers in the fridge to go with the bottles and jars of condiments, and that’s about it. The cabinets don’t look much better, with only a few cans of beans and soup. Finally locating a half-empty sleeve of saltines, Sam fills a glass of water from the sink and forces down a handful of slightly stale crackers while he leans against the counter. They’re even out of coffee, he realizes, shoulders drooping with exhaustion.

Sleep is hard to find these days, knowing every hour not researching or looking for his brother just pulls Dean further and further from their grasp. Not being able to help with Heaven as well as not being able to find Dean leaves him feeling useless and frustrated. Tossing the rest of the crackers on the counter, Sam takes his glass of water and goes back to the desk where he settles in and looks for more demon signs.

*****

Castiel walks into a room lined with chalkboards and whiteboards, with a couple of computers set up on desks. In the center of the room is a large table, and at the moment there is a frizzy-haired human he recognizes as Albert Einstein, and an angel, Hamaliel, discussing  quantum theory and the structure of space-time. The discussion is quickly devolving into an argument, with the man's hands grasping large tufts of graying black hair, making it even more wild. Hamaliel's vessel is red-faced, and she is holding a pencil, jabbing the tip into a piece of paper on the table emphatically.

"Your theories are outdated, human. I neither care for, nor want your reasons for believing the things you do. The human mind is incapable of grasping the number of dimensions—”

The relatively short man reaches for his pipe, and mutters,“ _So hatte ich mir Engel nicht vorgestellt. Ein Haufen Arschgesichter mit Flügeln._ ”*

Turning away from the shocked angel, he says, "This is supposed to be Heaven? I should have stayed in my own, instead of being insulted like this. I need to go smoke in peace."

Grumbling, the man stomps out of the room. Castiel watches him go before turning to Hamaliel, seeing her vessel's brown eyes flash, her arms crossed with fingernails digging into the brown skin of her arms. With a sigh, he crosses over to her and pries the pencil from her grasp before she breaks it by pressure alone. She turns to him and starts in on him this time.

“I do not understand why we must work with these primitive, immature—”

“Hamaliel,” Castiel attempts a soothing tone, “You understand there aren’t enough of us angels, especially those well versed in the sciences necessary to open Heaven. Gathering together whoever we have left, plus humans with the capability of understanding higher mathematics is necessary for us to do this right."

He glances toward the door. "Mister Einstein is one of those who can grasp both the solid and abstract theory of what we are attempting. It would behoove us to keep calm and rational."

Castiel places a hand on her shoulder. "I would have thought the angel of logic would understand the reasoning behind this."

Hamaliel puffs out her cheeks in a childish gesture. "It's these vessels. I have never been so prone to emotion before. It is... disconcerting."

With a sad smile, he gives her shoulder a squeeze before dropping his hand. "Trust me, I understand. Just keep in mind our common goal, alright sister?"

She nods, the tight coils of black hair on her head bobbing with the motion. Castiel strolls around the room, picking up bits of conversations in many languages. Humans and angels working together to open Heaven. He understands the need for the human assistance more than anybody, after having everything that made him an angel stripped away and stuck in a human body. While limited in scope, the capability of grasping the most abstract notions is something he continues to marvel at, even at the cost of the ability to easily think through complex partial differential equations. With the number of angels so greatly diminished, it is only with human help that they will be able to undo what Metatron has wrought. Thus, they searched Heaven for willing participants, and have gathered quite a collection of mathematicians, scientists, and musicians.

It was Gabriel who came to him with the idea. Of course, Gabriel, as the original messenger, had access to more knowledge than the average angel, perhaps more than Michael or Lucifer. Plus, he is the only fully functional angel, even though he still must use Metatron's door to enter and exit Heaven.

The idea of reopening Heaven involves harmonics. When Metatron closed Heaven, it created a disturbance that slightly altered the frequency at which it operates. This is why a special door is needed, and why human souls are trapped in the veil. As an angel, Castiel understands that the entire universe is harmonious in its operation, and the closing of Heaven created a note of discord. However, finding the right frequency to rectify it is not such an easy task.

This is why the humans are so useful. They have a partial knowledge of the universal design, and have built from it the basics of human knowledge. One of the reasons the pentagram is such a useful and potent tool is because within it is the Golden Ratio. From that comes the Fibonacci sequence, which is once again repeated universally within living things.

Castiel’s mind wanders as he ponders Dean, and his nearly perfectly aligned features  within the golden ratio. When he realizes his distraction, he frowns. Dean. Just how much of the Righteous Man is left within him? With a shake of his head, he clears his mind and thinks of harmonics.

Within the pentagram comes the basics of the golden ratio and harmonics, from which the human musical scale was produced. Of course human hearing can only hear a limited number of frequencies, but the rule still holds into physics and the action of waves and particles. In order to re-harmonize Heaven with the universe, one must carefully calculate the proper frequencies. With the use of cosmology, atomics, acoustics, and quantum physics, among others, they can create stochastic, partial differential equations of interacting particle systems, from which they can derive the proper frequencies. Perhaps the closest to human understanding of the concept is the music of the spheres, the harmonious interconnected workings of all the bodies in the universe.

Luckily, they still have Galgaliel, whose specialty is the energy within vibration. He will be the one to decide the frequencies each of them shall use. Isafrel will assist with the harmonizing of the frequencies into song. Castiel wonders if he will be of much use when the time comes, due to his bastardized Grace. With a sigh, Castiel exits the room and heads towards what used to be Metatron’s office.

This room has changed since Castiel undid Metatron’s control, by breaking the angel tablet and freeing Gabriel. The cluttering items have been removed, and there are charts, maps, equations everywhere. As he settles in the chair the scribe left behind, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. While positioning himself in Heaven has slowed the degradation of his borrowed Grace, he is still weakened and tires easily. Castiel tries to empty his mind of thought, of the progress being made on the equations, of the fact that Gabriel should be the leader of the angels, of the search for Dean. Reining in his Grace, or what’s left of it, he enters a fitful sleep.

***

Crowley leans back on the plush curved bench where he and Dean are seated, surveying the dimly lit nightclub. He detests the pulsing, electronic beat that would surely be rattling his molars were he human. But Dean, regardless of the control spell he has him under, needs to get out more. And definitely not at the dive-bars the sod normally finds himself. He could think of a few more posh locations, but it would be more difficult to find the kind of relaxation he seeks for his new knight.

A waitress with long brown hair, wearing a black halter top and shorts comes up to their table. She sets down two tumblers of amber liquid. Crowley hands her a folded note between two fingers and as she reaches for it, he pulls her closer.

“I hope you got it right this time?”

“Yes, sir.” she says in heavily accented English, “Older than me, single malt. I hope Glenlivet, 25 years is good?”

“Sure sure, thanks doll.” He releases her, but continues, “And keep handy, in case we’re still thirsty.”

She nods, and makes her way away from the table. Crowley slides the second drink toward the man to his left, who currently appears to be giving some blonde young tart a throat exam with his tongue while another grinds down on his lap, his hand on her breast. Rolling his eyes, Crowley clears his throat.

“Your drink.”

Dean manages to pull away long enough from the woman in order to grasp his glass. He hands it to the one on his lap. She accepts the drink, and takes a sip. Dean yanks her down and drinks from her mouth. Crowley throws them a distasteful  glance and says, “Get a room.” Dean leans over and whispers something to the blonde at his side, who giggles and closes her eyes. With a smirk, Dean snaps his fingers and disappears with both women.

“Showoff,” says Crowley with an eye roll.

Now that Dean is otherwise occupied, Crowley no longer needs to listen to this Europop garbage. Drink still in hand, he whisks himself to a private office where he can enjoy a cigar along with his drink. Rolling his neck, Crowley allows himself to relax a bit. While they have been dealing with issues now and again topside, he has been using the time discrepancies between there and Hell to train Dean in obedience. And it’s finally beginning to pay off.

Except for the more homicidal urges that emerge from the Mark, Dean is becoming quite the useful henchman. Crowley finds the use of the controlling spell and bracelet that was crafted for Dean is needed less as his training continues. Although he would be a fool to remove such a useful tool from his new toy so early. No, he’ll use the bracelet like a collar on a well-trained animal, a reminder of how it has been broken to its master’s will.

Thankfully, those abysmal Supernatural books contained enough information about Dean’s formative years to know what pitfalls to avoid when it comes to triggering disobedience. Militaristic orders are followed on instinct, but he must be careful to not sound too much like his father. Unfortunately, Dean had apparently gotten closer to that blasted nuisance Castiel. So he avoids having Dean near anyone similar to a certain dark haired, blue eyed traitor. One of the reasons he lost his temper with the tailor was the selection of bright blue ties visible in the box he was going to hand to Dean. The last thing he needs is to remind Dean of a reason to be anything other than demon.

Crowley just makes sure to avoid certain… triggers. Also, dodging that annoying moose of a brother has become a trial more frequently as of late, since he’s found an angelic joyride of his own. And how has Gabriel been able to keep his wings? Let alone, survive getting stabbed by Lucifer? No matter. Soon, he will have Dean completely broken and it wouldn’t matter if he were faced with his own mother. He’d slit her throat if Crowley commanded it.

Irritated, he upends the last of the Scotch in his glass. Perhaps he should reward himself for all his hard work lately. A sensual massage may be in order.

***

Eyes unfocused and jaw slack, Sam stares blankly at his computer screen. The weather map on the screen has a popup saying it needs to be refreshed. A door slamming makes him jump, and he quickly hits refresh before blinking and turning toward Gabriel, who comes striding in with bags full of takeout food. The angel places the food on the table and leans against the edge.

“Hey, Sam-I-am, you up for some green eggs and ham?”

Sam stares at him a little stupidly before replying, “Huh?”

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel swivels Sam so he can stand between his legs, and cups the man’s face in his hands.

“When’s the last time you actually slept, like in a bed, huh?”

With a frown, Sam pulls back and insists he’s fine.

“Riiiight.” Gabe looks at him doubtfully, “The Winchester definition of that word doesn’t mesh well with the rest of the world, or you know, the actual meaning of it.” Fingers teasing Sam’s greasy locks, he says, “Well, let’s get some grub, then I get to drag you off into a shower and then bed for nappy time.”

After Gabriel manages to pull him to his feet, the smell of exotic spices coming from the takeout bags lures Sam into the kitchen where Gabriel dishes out authentic Indian food. From India. Sam tries some excellent greens called Haak, then tastes a spicy okra dish. And then there’s this absolutely delicious dish with eggplant called Baingan bharta. Oh, man. And at least three different kinds of flatbreads. Even when he was at Stanford he never had Indian food like this. Gabe makes him try some kind of sweet and spicy fried noodle thing, and by the time he’s finished eating, Sam’s afraid his stomach might literally explode.

Gabriel rocks Sam out of his chair and pushes him toward the showers, pressed to his back and rubbing Sam’s distended belly. When Sam hears Gabriel murmur something between his shoulder blades about a food baby, he tries not to laugh, because it hurts. He really can’t believe he ate so much. And now he’s thinking of Dean, wondering if he still eats as a demon. With a pained sigh, Sam hopes his brother is at least enjoying some pie.

Once they reach the shower room, Gabriel turns on a shower, allowing the room to steam while he gently removes Sam’s clothes. When Sam is fully undressed, Gabriel snaps his own clothes away. Sam thinks it’s unfair, and frowns down at him. Gabriel merely looks up at him with a gentle smile, which Sam is still getting used to. It’s hard to believe that hiding under all that crass snark and sass is someone who can gently caress, whisper softly, and smile from the heart.

With a gentle shove, Gabriel backs Sam under the hot spray, and it feels wonderful on the back of his neck, his shoulders. As Sam relaxes under the hot water, Gabriel finds the bodywash and a loofah. While grabbing Sam’s bottle, he sees Dean’s shampoo and shoves it a little further back on the shelf, trying to hide it behind Sam’s conditioner. They don't need the reminder right now.

After he gets a good lather going, and the shower fills with the scent of lemongrass and ginger, Gabriel starts scrubbing Sam down, gently and methodically. He sees Sam’s muscles relax, feels his shoulders droop as he massages the knots out of them. He washes Sam’s hair, careful to keep the soap out of the man’s eyes, then starts on his lower half, paying extra attention between Sam’s legs. He hears Sam groan, and feels his cock twitch and slowly grow as he washes around it, and then gives it a couple of strokes with his sudsy hand.

Damn, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to just how big Sam is. Not that he’s complaining, but it’s enough to give an angel a complex about his own size. But as Loki, he discovered he has a thing for giants, after all. And the old stories they used to tell about him barely even scratch the surface. When Gabriel first went into hiding with the Norse gods, he got freaky. Now, he finds that when he’s with Sam, he doesn’t want freaky -or at least Norse gods levels of freaky- he wants to comfort, cuddle, and love. Although, he does appreciate that Sam’s a forceful lover. He knows what he wants, knows how to get it, and has the physical strength to keep it interesting. Like right now, Sam’s large hand wraps around Gabe’s, helping him find a rhythm.

When he looks up, Sam’s eyes are closed, and his mouth is open, head tilted back and pressing against the tile wall. This makes his body arch and Gabriel gets a terrific view of the toned muscles along the man’s abdomen, with rivulets of water rolling down. Gabriel can’t help but follow a trail with his tongue, down between Sam’s pectorals, along his abs, dipping into his belly button, and straight to the patch of wiry hair at the base of the cock they’re stroking together. The shower has rinsed away the lingering suds, and he nibbles down a thigh and pushes Sam’s knees apart until he can get to his balls.

Oh, how he loves the reactions he can elicit from this man. Sam gasps and bucks, his free hand going to Gabriel’s hair, grabbing a fistful as Gabe suckles and pulls on the sensitive skin, massaging his testicles with his tongue. When he gets a whimper, he knows Sam’s close, and he leans back to look up at the beautiful man who he can’t help but love. Sam is panting heavily, head thrown back against the wall, hair plastered in wet strands to the surface. His muscular, beautiful body on display, glistening with water.

Hungrily, Gabriel wraps his mouth around the head of Sam’s cock, and draws a long lick across the tip, tasting precome. He squeezes and pumps his hand along the considerable length faster, knowing Sam’s going to be exhausted. With trembling hips and a garbled shout, Sam comes, and Gabriel catches all of it, then helps support the man as he almost collapses to the shower floor. With a snap of his fingers, he has Sam dry and in bed, covers pulled up, and he’s pressed up against him, feeling his breathing calm and steady out.

Sam opens his heavy-lidded eyes and looks into Gabriel’s eyes. “Thank you,” he says, a small smile on his lips.

“Any time, Samsquatch. Now close those eyes and get some rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

He watches Sam’s eyes drift closed, and presses a kiss to the man’s forehead. When Sam’s breathing evens out, and he starts to lightly snore, Gabriel runs his fingers through his hair and watches him sleep. Once he’s sure Sam won’t awaken any time soon, Gabriel slips out of bed and goes to look at Sam’s research, knowing the man won’t properly rest on his own until he can locate his brother.

***

Back in Heaven, in what used to be Metatron’s office, Castiel dozes fitfully in the leather chair. Hannah cracks open the door quietly, peeking in. When she sees him sleeping, she slips inside and gently closes the door behind her. After watching Castiel, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the frown he wears even in sleep, she reaches out and nudges his shoulder.

“Castiel,” she says softly, “Wake up.”

He jerks awake, and instinctively reaches for his blade before he realizes it’s Hannah standing before him. Grunting, he blinks and tries to focus tired eyes on her.

“Ngh, Hannah? What,” he rubs a hand over his face, “Is there something you need?”

She looks down at him a moment, lips pursed, then says, “We’re worried about the rate of decline in your Grace.”

Castiel frowns up at her, and the crease between his eyebrows deepens. They’ve had this conversation before.

“Hannah—”

She holds up a hand and squats to be at eye level with him. “I can see how weak your Grace is, Castiel. At this rate, you won’t be able to help us reopen Heaven.”

When Castiel doesn’t reply, she continues. “You won’t last long, and we need you. If only I could share some of my Grace—”

“NO.”

He pushes her back, stands up and paces the other side of the room. He’s torn, because on one hand, he knows that every angel left will be needed for their plan to reopen Heaven. That, and because it was Castiel’s Grace used in the spell that closed Heaven, he will play a pivotal part in what they are doing to accomplish their goal. Oh the other hand… Dean has succumbed to the Mark of Cain, and has become a knight of Hell. Everything he’s done, whatever they might have meant to each other, it’s all gone.

He remembers when Naomi was controlling him, and Dean was encouraging him to go visit Heaven. He had confessed to Dean that the weight of everything he had done was too much to bear, and that if he did see what he had wrought upon Heaven, he might kill himself. Of course, now it’s even worse, and he’s not allowed to leave, because of his waning Grace. Gabriel should be the one leading them, not Castiel. But the archangel is helping Sam. Which leaves Castiel alone, and in pain because he wants to find Dean. Who’s a demon. If only he could see him one last time.

Of course, Sam has a theory that the demon cure might work. But Dean is so much stronger than a regular demon. And what of the Mark of Cain? How will they remove that, keep Dean from falling under its effects once again? Looking around the room, he takes in all the notes and research that have gone into opening Heaven. He knows he will probably need an infusion of Grace just before they attempt to reopen it, and he doesn’t want to take any more Grace than absolutely necessary.

Yes, they’ve found a way to extract small amounts in a way that doesn’t permanently harm the angel, but what about what happens to him? Is he expected to subsist off of leeched Grace forever, constantly borrowing from others? Only half-angel, weak and dependent? No, better to only use what’s necessary to complete this final task and then he will go away somewhere, let the last of his stolen Grace drain away. Let him die. Because regardless of his good intentions, he never does anything right, anyway.

“Castiel.”

He turns to see Hannah where he left her, and she is patiently watching him.

“What?” He replies, irritated.

Hannah steps toward him. “If you’d only let me help, you wouldn’t have to feel this way. We are all willing to help, to donate some of our Grace—”

“And I told you, only when absolutely necessary, Hannah. And I’m fine. I just wish there was more I could do.”

She steps closer, “If you’d accept our Grace, then you could—”

“Enough!” he snaps, turning away with his hands balled into fists. “I’ve already told you that I refuse. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

He waits, and eventually, Hannah replies, “No, sir.”

“Then if you don’t mind,” his voice is cold and hard, “I would prefer to be alone.”

Castiel waits until he hears the door close, before he turns around and sinks back into the chair. He slides open a drawer and pulls out several papers, that look like printouts of security camera stills. Underneath are close-ups of a man. It’s Dean, he can tell, even with the grainy quality. Even though Gabriel and Sam haven’t been able to catch up to him, every now and again, they’ve been able to catch him passing by a security camera near wherever he’s recently killed a demon. He’s been all over the world, supposedly cleaning up the remnants of those loyal to Abaddon. Pulling loose another paper, he can see Crowley in the background, watching Dean.

His fingers trace the outline of the man in the picture, and he notes that Dean’s hair has grown out. Does Dean even think of him, now that he’s a demon? Closing his eyes, Castiel prays to an absent God. _Please, for once Father, let me not mess this up_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I didn't imagine angels would be like this, a bunch of assfaces with wings.


	2. Down the road that I must travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gabe get closer to finding Dean, and the angels get closer to unlocking Heaven.  
> A Wild Charlie Appears!  
> Puppies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve tried avoid Dean POV up till now, because I just can’t seem to get into Dark Dean’s headspace. So apologies if his POV here just doesn’t seem… evil enough. Maybe he’s just bored.  
> But he's still not a very nice person.
> 
> CW/TW this chapter: Pegging, Threesome (Dean, FOC's), musical/technical jargon, control of a body without the user's will
> 
> As usual, if I forgot a tag or warning, please let me know.

_The wind blows hard against this mountainside_

_Across the sea into my soul_

_It reaches into where I cannot hide_

_Setting my feet upon the road_

-Mr. Mister, Kyrie-

* * *

Sam’s warm and comfortable, and it’s dark, but something is prodding the corners of his consciousness. He knows he needs to wake up but his sleep-deprived mind is fighting him. Eventually, whatever is bringing him toward wakefulness filters in.

“...mmy, hey, Sammikins, time to get up.”

Someone is gently shaking his shoulder. Dammit, Dean. “I’m not leaving so you can get laid. Lemme alone.”

Rolling away from the hand on his arm, he buries his face deeper into the pillow. His brother should know better than to bring hook-ups back to the room, knowing Sam’s in here.

Wait. Something wrong with that thought niggles at him, until the reality of the situation finally has him jerking awake. Dean. Dean’s gone. And this isn’t a motel room, but his own, at the Bunker. So who… what…

Hand gripping the handle of a knife he keeps under his pillow, Sam flips over, and in the dim light from the hallway, finds himself face-to-face with Gabriel. Gabe’s eyes are wide, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender.

“Remind me to never wake you up again.”

“Sorry, I… um… yeah.”

In between sleep and waking, everything was as it used to be. Dean and Sam, on the road. The heel of his free hand rubbing against his eye, he yawns wide enough to feel his jaw crack. With a sniff, he pushes the knife back under the pillow and sits up, blinking at Gabriel, who is sitting at the edge of the bed, uncharacteristically patient.

“Did something come up?” Sam asks, searching for his phone. Gabriel hands it to him, and when the screen lights up he sees it’s a little after 9. Wait, PM? He blinks down at it, trying to remember what time he went to sleep. Luckily, Gabriel doesn’t leave him hanging.

“Sorry, big guy, you only slept for about three hours. But I swear I’ve got a good excuse.”

Sam looks at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to continue.

“While you were napping, I picked up where you left off. And I got a hit on Twitter.”

With a snap of his fingers, Gabe’s holding open the laptop for Sam’s inspection. It’s showing a Twitter post that talks about a hot threesome going on in a French nightclub. A picture shows Dean… entertaining two blonde women, with Crowley off to the side. Stunned, Sam stares at the clearest picture of Dean he’s seen yet, in spite of the low lighting. There’s no trace of the pallor of death that he last saw on his brother. He looks healthy, and almost… happy. Sam looks at the time stamp. 2:48 AM, the next day. Wait, what?

“Where was this taken?” He hands the computer back to Gabriel, throws back the covers, and gets up to go rooting around for a pair of jeans. While he jams a leg into the pair he found on the floor, he asks, “Gabe?”

Gabriel comes over and grabs his arm before he falls over trying to get his second leg in. “It was in Marseille, France, which means it was over an hour ago. Just, hold on a sec, willya?”

He holds Sam still long enough to get a frustrated face from him. “We’re always behind, Gabe. I don’t have time to hold on a sec.”

“Fine. Here.” Gabriel snaps his fingers, and Sam is dressed and his hair isn’t a mess of tangles. “I even have your bag of goodies in case we actually run into anything.”

Sam takes a deep breath, “Sorry Gabe. It’s just—”

“Yeah, yeah. Gotta get there before he’s blowing in the wind again. But if we’re gonna be zapping in, we need to be prepared.”

Closing his eyes, Sam takes a deep breath and counts to ten as slowly as he dares, feeling the time slip through their fingers. As soon as he hits ten, his eyes are open and focused on the angel before him.

“You ready?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, lets do his.”

Two fingers press to Sam’s forehead, and they vanish with the sound of feathers.

*****

In a hotel room in Marseille, Dean’s feeling awesome. He’s kneeling in the middle of a large bed, one hand firmly gripping the hip of a blonde, slamming into her from behind. As he pulls back from each thrust, he backs into the strap-on the second woman is wearing behind him. His other hand is on her thigh, making sure she’s positioned just right, to hit his prostate with each push.

_Oh, fuck, yeah. That’s it, right there._

The way they’re positioned, the women can’t see that his eyes have gone black. Not that it bothers him any, but chicks tend to flip out if they see them. Although sometimes that can be pretty hot, too. Hold them down, while they scream at him. Yeah. But what he wants now is cooperative, willing participants in his current Dean sandwich. With a grunt, he shifts, sliding his knees out because the woman behind is a little short, and she keeps missing. This would be easier if he could have picked up a dude, but Crowley’s a bit of a prude when it comes to Dean’s play partners. Hell if he can figure out why. Not like Crowley only swings one way.

Rolling his hips, he starts grinding back into that spot, and it sends electricity up his spine. Thrusting harder into the hot, wet pussy before him, he readjusts his grip on her sweat-slicked skin. Dean closes his eyes and imagines that what he’s backing into isn’t a silicone dong, but real flesh. Hard, throbbing and thick. The person behind him has their hands on his chest, but they’re too small, with long nails digging in. He imagines blunter nails, and strong, elegant fingers, with larger hands. Those hands belong to strong, tanned arms and the body pressing against his back doesn’t have tits, no. Instead its the broad chest of a man nearly his own height, and if he were willing to let go of either partner, he could sink his own fingers into thick, wild, dark locks.

_Hnnnggg._

He’s found the perfect rhythm, and it won’t take long now. Pounding harder, head thrown back, he imagines the voice of his fantasy partner, the deep, gravelly voice calling his name. Wait, what he’s hearing isn’t quite right. Opening his eyes, he sees Crowley standing in front of the door. Dammit, he’s not gonna be cockblocked when he’s so… fucking… _close_.

Dean closes his eyes again, holding up a finger to signal he’ll be done in juuust a moment. The girl on her knees in front of him has noticed Crowley and is squirming, so he grabs her with both hands and growls, “Hold the fuck still.” Picking up his pace, he pounds into her even harder.

The slap of skin, grunts, and harsh breaths fill the air, and he tunes it all out. Balls pulling taut, he pictures a cleft chin, high cheekbones, and impossibly blue eyes. Pink chapped lips form his name, and he’s there, coming in harsh gasps, jaw clenched to keep from calling out the name on the tip of his tongue. After a couple more thrusts, he makes his eyes go normal, and pulls out. He lets the girl behind him slide out, and she collapses onto the bed with trembling thighs.

“Chop-chop, we’ve got a flying pest on our tails,” Crowley says, a frown on his face.

While Dean’s pulling off the used condom, the blonde he was pounding into whines and bucks up into empty air. Oh, she didn’t finish yet? Too bad. Crowley says they need to split, and if he doesn’t want to turn into a zombie-soldier again, he needs to get dressed and out of here, pronto. Dean eyes the twisted silver bracelet on his wrist as he gathers his clothing. Damn thing won’t come off no matter what he tries. After he’s yanked on his jeans, with everything else bundled in his arms, he turns to the two women on the bed.

“As much as I’d love to watch you finish yourselves off, I gotta split. I’ll just leave you to it then.”

Without a glance back, he follows Crowley out into the hallway, before they dissolve back into Crowley’s office in Hell.

*****

There’s a restless air in the strategy room, with humans and angels all talking animatedly at once. They think they’ve calculated the proper formulas and have the right frequencies. Musicians hum and scribble on notepads while the mathematicians and scientists pat themselves on the back. Those at the computers are still engrossed, working with the new material. The activity is giving Castiel a headache, and he’s wondering if he can sneak out without being noticed when he sees a man slink out of the room. Following his lead, Castiel weaves his way through the crowd, discovering they’re so caught up in their own excitement, they barely notice him.

Once he finally escapes the room, the door muffling the noise inside, Castiel sighs a breath of relief and collapses into a chair a few yards away. Elbows on his knees, he leans forward, massaging his temples, eyes closed. When he looks up, the man who escaped earlier is seated on a bench not far from him, and is eyeing him suspiciously.  This man has unruly hair, and sideburns that remind him of Sam.  Castiel recognizes him as Ludwig van Beethoven. Knowing this man had gone deaf during his musically productive years, with prolonged tinnitus, he can understand the need to escape noise. After Castiel politely nods in his direction, the man returns to scribbling in his notepad.

They sit there in companionable silence for a few moments. After a while, the man -should Castiel think of him as Ludwig, or Beethoven?- inclines his head to catch attention.

“Yes?”

“You are Castiel?”

“I am.”

Ludwig looks down at his notes, frowns and says, “I have some questions.”

Castiel comes over to the bench, and the composer asks about angelic vocal range. When Castiel looks at the paper, there is the standard musical staff. across the page are the normal human vocal ranges from bass to soprano. When he’s asked to explain where angelic voices rest, Castiel has to gather his thoughts. Angelic song is on an entirely different plane from human existence. After a moment, he asks Ludwig if he is familiar with infra and ultrasound. It’s the man’s turn to pause as he considers the words, and then says maybe.

Taking the notebook from the man, Castiel draws several short staffs down the page. One in the middle, he labels “Average Human Hearing” and draws ledger lines up, makes a notation that he’s skipping lines, to designate the highest standard note or frequency human ears can normally hear, and writes 20,000 Hz. Then he expands the bottom lines similarly and writes 20 Hz. When the man looks at him confused, Castiel fills in some notes along the staff and writes in their frequencies, and then the man gets it. He briefly explains the meaning of Hz as Hertz, wave cycle per second, which Ludwig grasps easily enough.

Then, Castiel goes up to the staff above that one and writes “Ultrasound” and he repeats the process, writing out many more zeroes at the top range. Explaining the equivalency of frequencies this high, he breaks it up again into categories, starting with “Angelic Soprano” up in the gigahertz range. He says that Galgaliel and Isafrel will be better able to answer his questions in more detail, especially about harmonizing, since this is their specialty.

With a nod, Ludwig asks, “What is your range, Castiel?”

It’s been a while since Castiel has engaged in angelic song, and he pauses before going below the human range staff and writing “Infrasound, Angelic Bass”. Here, he writes a simple scale from 0 to 20 Hz. However, he explains he is capable of singing higher, but the low frequencies are his strongest suit. While the man absorbs all this, Castiel leans back and rests his head against the wall. If he were to describe his own song, the only human analog would be Tibetan throat singing.* He'll need at least one other angel with a similar range to properly get the harmonics right.

They sit there quietly again for a time, while Ludwig flips to a new page and makes notes, using different symbols in front of staves for different frequency ranges. Castiel wonders if perhaps this man, who had to live without his hearing for a time yet still produce music, is uniquely suited as a human to grasp angelic ranges. After some more notes are hastily scribbled, Ludwig stands up and bows to Castiel, thanking him for his assistance. Castiel watches as he slips back into the room.

It was nice sitting with the composer in relative silence, only needing to speak to convey something more complex than what could be easily drawn. Headache still pounding behind his temples, Castiel decides it’s time to retreat to his office. He will do no one any good in his current state.

*****

Gabriel and Sam appear just outside the entrance to the bunker, arguing. They had gone to the French night club to discover that both Crowley and Dean were gone. This time, without a trail of dead bodies. Why were they there, then? Sam unlocks the door and they head down the stairs, still going at it.

“If you had gone without me, then maybe you could have caught up with them.”

“And what good would that have done? I’ve never been Dean’s favorite angel, you know. Now that he’s a super-demon, I’m probably Kill On Sight status.”

Sam opens his mouth to say that killing him over a hundred Tuesdays hadn’t helped, when he sees a familiar redhead standing in the middle of the war room. He blinks, noticing her hair is incredibly short, and her clothes are… different. If he didn’t know she had spent the better part of a year in Oz, he’d think she was cosplaying, with her colorful frock.

“Charlie?”

“Sam!” She rushes over and gives him a huge hug, jumping into his arms and squealing, simultaneously deafening and strangling him. Gabriel shifts uncomfortably at his side. When she finally releases Sam, Charlie immediately begins babbling.

“I was thinking you guys were on a hunt, but then I saw the Impala was here, and that was weird, but it wouldn’t be the first time you had to use a different car, so then I was worried, but I lost my cellphone ages ago, because you know, no signal past the door, and I’ve been here for about an hour wondering how to get in touch with you guys, and I was afraid to touch the weird radio in the library. Oh, hope you don’t mind I had one of the last beers, there’s not much in this place.”

She finally notices the man at Sam’s side, and sticks out a hand to shake. “Oh hi, I’m Charlie, nice to meet you.” Gabriel slowly reaches out to grasp it, and as soon as he does, she’s turning back to Sam, hand still in her grip. “Where’s my handmaiden, I mean Dean? Are you fighting again?”

Letting out a long breath, Sam says, “Charlie, this is Gabriel.”

She gives Gabe’s hand a couple more pumps before letting go. “Gabriel, huh? You… um… in the same line of work?” She glances at Sam nervously, not sure what the man might know.

Gabe raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth, but Sam places a hand on his shoulder.

“Charlie, this is _Gabriel_. You know, from the books?”

She looks between the two men, and then finally it clicks, and her mouth drops open. Gabe tilts his head in greeting and gives a cautious smile. Charlie's mouth flaps uselessly for a moment before sounds come out.

“You, but, he, that, how… Sam? What’s going on?”

“Take a deep breath, and let’s go sit down. A lot has happened since you went on your adventure.”

While he steers her toward a chair, he asks, “Where’s Dorothy, by the way?”

“Oh, she stayed behind, I needed to come back, because there’s some weird stuff happening, and I was hoping there would be an answer on this side.” She glances around again. “And you never did tell me where Dean is.”

Stopping to glare at Gabriel, she says, “By Grabthar’s hammer, if you did something to him again—”

Sam places hands on Charlie’s shoulders, “Gabe didn’t hurt Dean, he’s helping. You really should sit down for this.”

When they are all finally seated, Sam gives Charlie a brief-as-possible rundown of what she missed since going to Oz. It takes a while, because she keeps interrupting. There’s quite a bit of yelling, stomping, and throwing things on her part, and when Sam gets to the confrontation with Metatron, he has to stop. It was hard enough getting through the past year, but actually saying what happened to Dean out loud, he just can’t.

“Sam, no. Don’t George R.R. Martin me. No. Dean can’t be…”

Sam just swallows and looks at the floor. Charlie produces a garbled, emotional squeak, and stands up, making her chair flip over.

“But you and Dean always come back! It’s in the books! He… he can’t, you can’t just tell me he—” Her voice warbles at the end, and she rushes at him, face crumpled, and Sam holds her tight while she flails at him.

He looks at Gabe, and prays silently at him, ‘ _I can’t do this, I can’t tell her that my brother is…_ ’

Gabriel was mostly quiet throughout most of this, which is strange in and of itself, considering the mouth on the angel. But while Cas had filled him in on most of what he’d missed, Sam hadn’t been in a mood to discuss much. When he had first seen the redhead throw herself at Sam, he didn’t know if he should be jealous. But then he remembered Cas mention a girl named Charlie having something to do with the Leviathan, so he tried to be on his best behavior.

Now, Sam’s emotionally exhausted, and Gabe understands that he needs to take over. Placing a hand on the girl’s head, he pushes just enough Grace to get her to let go of Sam. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and with a glance at Sam to let him know he’s got this, leads her to the library, and gently places her in a leather chair. Sliding another chair over so he can sit in front of her, he holds her hands and waits until she looks him in the eye.

“So you gonna fill in the rest?” Charlie’s voice warbles, and her eyes are red from crying, but she seems ready to listen again.

With another tiny little nudge of Grace to help keep her calm, Gabriel finishes the story. Her hands squeeze his tight when he says that Metatron got Dean with an angel blade, but mouth in a grim line, she nods for him to continue. When he gets to the part of Dean going missing, her eyes get a little hopeful, and when he tells her about how the Mark made him a demon, he can see the calculation going on behind those green eyes. This is when he realizes the boys have adopted another member to their little family.

“So now, we’re busy trying to hunt Dean down and try to see if we can cure him, the way Sam almost did with Crowley.”

Charlie takes a deep breath, looks Gabriel square in the eye, and says, “So Dean’s a supposedly unkillable superdemon under the King of Hell’s thumb. Castiel, who I still haven’t met, by the way, is slowly dying because of the Grace he took. Heaven’s still locked up, and you guys are gonna do an angelic sing-along to open it up?”

“Yep, pretty much. So where did you disappear to, since Sam didn’t tell me he basically has a little sister.”

Actually managing to smile a little, Charlie says, “Would you believe me if I told you I was in Oz?”

“As in Emerald City, not the home of Crocodile Dundee? Yes I would.” This gets a bigger smile from her, and Gabe says, “How’s the Lollipop Guild doing these days?”

While Gabe was filling in Charlie, Sam took his laptop to his room. After having to rehash all that crap, he needs a break from having to look at people. Especially after seeing the look on Charlie’s face. Maybe now that she’s here, she can help with the search for Dean. Her insane computer skills just might come in handy. After all, who else would have thought to find a way to wire the weird-as-hell, partially magical, ancient computer system the bunker uses, into a USB port? And then get a modern O.S. to integrate with it?

With Charlie here, Sam feels a little more hopeful, and opens a new browser window to continue the search for his brother.

*****

Dean stands at attention in Crowley’s office while he holds a meeting with some of his middle-management demons. The King of Hell likes to show off his knight at every opportunity, and Dean has learned it’s better to behave on his own, instead of Crowley using the damn control bracelet on him. The feeling of not being able to control his body is something Dean will never get used to. Better to be a good soldier. While the meeting drags on, he zones out, not giving a damn about the shit they’re discussing. He just wants to go back to his room and take advantage of Hell’s strangely magical Wifi, so he can stream his favorite shows.

Although, because of the time difference between Earth and Hell, having to wait about two years in between currently airing episodes sucks. So when he’s not in training with the other demons -whose asses he kicks regularly-,  standing like a useless rock in Crowley’s office, or on a mission, he’s either watching reruns or reading.

Shit, Hell’s so. Fucking. _Boring_. It’s almost enough to make him want to fuck a demon, but damn. No paper bag is big enough to cover all that ugly.At least he’s gotten used to the smell of sulfur. Maybe after a few hundred years, he’ll be desperate enough to fuck anything. How the hell did Cas even manage to kiss Meg?

Cas. There’s someone he tries his damnedest to not think about down here. Stupid angel, getting weaker all the time because of that stolen Grace. He can just imagine the disapproval in those blue eyes. Losing himself to thoughts about Cas, Dean feels a tingle on his wrist, a warning from the bracelet. He looks up to realize he’s slouching, shoulders slumped and chin to his chest. Rolling his head on his neck, he straightens back up, locking eyes with Crowley who raises an eyebrow before turning back to his stupid meeting.

On his right forearm, Dean feels the burning itch from the Mark slowly building. He wonders how long Crowley’s going to make him wait to kill with the Blade this time. Asshole’s been keeping him down here longer and longer after every kill.  And he can’t just get his killing fix here either. The last time he ganked a demon without permission, Crowley forced him to stand in the waiting line for a fucking year. Shit, if he could just get the damn bracelet off, Dean could go fuck and kill his way around the goddamn world. Not like anything can take him. If it wasn't for the damn bracelet, he’d have killed Crowley a long time ago, too. After a moment he closes his eyes, and Dean plays through a fantasy involving twins and a donkey.

\- - -

A couple days later, Crowley takes him to one of the parts of Hell he likes the least, where they keep the Hellhounds. Bastard knows he hates being down here, says it’s good for Dean to get used to them. But you just don’t get over being shredded to death by one. Of course the little douchebag reminded him that he’d made a deal as well, but that was like, what, a couple hundred Earth years ago? Hell-time would make that thousands of years. And Crowley also got a lot more demon-training than Dean, too. Fucker enjoys making him feel uncomfortable, anyway.

Dean is led to a separate enclosure, and he hears high-pitched yips coming from a corner. Puppies? Well, they gotta make the beasts somehow. He has to admit though, they don't look so bad now that he can really see them with demonic sight. Well, when they’re not attacking anyway. Standing anywhere between three and four feet tall, they remind him of giant, black hyenas, all big and beefy in the front and smaller in the back. They have a fur ridge similar to hyenas as well, but the face is more like a bull terrier. What bothers him the most are their long, sharp fucking fangs and claws.

Crowley gestures for Dean to come closer. Dammit. As he shuffles closer to the nesting mother and her squirming litter, he hears a low, pulsing growl of warning. Nope, not getting any closer. Bastard can use the fucking bracelet if he wants.

“Why the fuck are we here, Crowley?”

Dean watches as Crowley squats down and extends his hand toward the beast, and all she does is sniff and lick his fingers. “I wanted to show you Juliette’s litter. They’ll be weaned soon.”

Juliette? The one that almost shredded him and Sam while they went after the fucking Blade? Dean tries to slide back, but Crowley exerts his will on the bracelet and Dean is frozen in place.

“You going to come closer, or do I have to make you?”

Dean just waits, jaw clenched, because there’s no way he’s willing to get any closer than he is now. Crowley rolls his eyes, and Dean can feel his body shift to kneel. His body scoots closer on his knees, and the low growl starts back up again. A whimper escapes his own throat, and Dean closes his eyes.

“Now now, Juliette just needs to get to know you, then she’ll know you’re not a threat to her pups.”

Dean’s hand extends, and even though he knows he can’t fight it, he still tries to will his muscles into stopping. It doesn’t do a damn thing, and he watches his fingers get closer to the mouth full of impossibly long, sharp teeth, and the growl gets louder. Dean swallows as his hand, palm up and fingers curled, reaches toward the hellhound. Juliette continues to growl as she extends her head and sniffs his knuckles. Her lips pull back, exposing even more of her teeth, then she licks his palm. As the growls subside to a barely audible pulse, Dean lets out the breath he'd been holding.

“I don’t know why you’re still afraid of the hounds, Dean. It’s not like they can kill you.” Crowley smirks at him and uses a patronizing tone.

“Yeah, but getting clawed and gnawed on still hurts.”

Crowley lets Dean's body relax so that he’s sitting on his heels, hands on his thighs. Dean notices the puppies milling around the mother hellhound. They’re lighter in color, striped and speckled gray, with huge feet and heads compared to their tiny, fluffy bodies. There’s six of them, crawling over and nipping at each other, fighting over their mother’s teats. He sees a smaller one, fighting to get in, but the others keep pushing it away. After one last attempt to crawl on top of the pile, he watches as it’s rolled off the heap, onto the floor. Dean doesn’t even realize he’s been released from Crowley’s control until he notices he’s got the tiny pup in his hand, and it’s suckling on a finger. He reached out for it all on his own.

“Figures you’d go for the runt.” Crowley rolls his eyes at him.

The puppy nips Dean’s finger and lets out a whine because it’s hungry. Dean looks up to see Crowley holding out a small bottle of milk with a tiny nipple on it.

“You’re going to raise this pup, and train it to be a proper hellhound. From now on, it lives with you.”

Wait, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [*Tibetan throat singing.](http://youtu.be/JsQdaHQekZs) [Yes, the thing on Misha’s resume.](http://youtu.be/FiGHeu_6siU)


	3. Through the darkness of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Sam come the closest they ever have to finding Dean, and Cas gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: There’s some D/s elements here, with Gabe/Sam. Thanks to a friend, she helped me make sure it doesn’t completely suck. There’s some sub-drop as well. some minor violence, descriptions of Hell, I poke fun at Hollywood just a bit.  
> Please feel free to let me know what you think

_When I was young, I thought of growing old_

_Of what my life would mean to me_

_Would I have followed down my chosen road_

_Or only wished what I could be_

-Mr. Mister, Kyrie-

* * *

 

After only a couple of days getting settled in, Charlie has become the queen of the bunker. The old radio has been upgraded to an old police scanner, and she leaves it on almost all the time. She spends a good portion of her time on it speaking with Ash and Neil about things geeky enough to give Gabriel a headache. She’s got a full-size, watercooled computer running face-recognition software on hacked international security feeds. One way or another, they’re going to track down Dean.

Since she took over most of the searching, it left Sam with some time to take care of himself. Gabriel’s been taking advantage of that by feeding him and spending as much time in bed with him as possible, giving Sam his undivided attention. Luckily for Charlie, Gabe used his mojo to soundproof Sam’s bedroom.

***

Sam’s trussed up like a Christmas turkey.  At least that’s how he feels. He’s firmly bound with coils of soft ropes, his forearms tied to his calves. Gabriel has his legs spread wide, while he traces his tongue over Sam’s balls. It’s all because of Gabe’s comment about how Sam likes it rough.

Sam never considered himself a rough lover, just enthusiastic. No one ever complained about it after, and he was always careful to tone it down if his partner seemed to not like it. But Gabe takes it all, and returns it with an affection that is, truthfully, overwhelming. But it’s always more gentle. So Sam finally asked Gabe if he was holding back because he was afraid of hurting him. That conversation devolved into the situation Sam’s in now.

Gabe had pinned Sam down, kissed him senseless, then snapped his fingers, to have Sam in this very vulnerable position. After deciding they didn’t need a safeword, because ‘Hello, angel’, he had proceeded to give Sam a slow, teasing blowjob until he thought he was going to explode, only to pull back and just wait, until Sam’s erection flagged a little. No amount of pleading would make the angel touch him. Then, Sam could feel something soft, almost ticklish, caressing his body. But he couldn’t see what it was.

“Gabe? Uhh, what are you doing?”

Golden eyes looked down on him, “Oh, Sammy. If you could only see my wings right now, they’re trembling for you.”

Suddenly, it made sense. Gabriel was touching him with his wings, and Sam could feel it. Soft, feathery touches caressed down his abdomen, and his muscles clenched at every light, electric touch. Every inch of his exposed body was caressed by Gabe’s feathers. Along his arms, down his legs, teasing the inside of his thighs, all the way to his toes, and it was incredibly erotic in a way Sam never expected. When Sam was trembling and breathing heavily, begging for more than just the tease of wings, Gabriel backed off again.

“Dammit, Gabriel, why are you doing this to me?”

“Because, my beautiful Samdonis, I want to show you there’s more than one way to dominate. I can take you apart, piece by piece, with a gentle hand just as easily as a rough one.”

With that, he gave Sam’s exposed ass a light, playful slap. Over the course of what felt like forever, Gabriel brought Sam to the edge of orgasm time and time again with his hands, mouth, feathers, and Grace. It didn’t help that Gabe seemed to be cheating, by using his Grace to hold Sam’s release at bay.

This brings them to now, with Gabriel tracing his tongue lower, down to Sam’s twitching hole. Sam’s given up any pretense of control, and whimpers as he feels warm wetness circle, then prod. This is something he would have never thought he’d be into, but with an angel, with Gabriel, all the rules have changed. Sam gasps as he feels Gabe’s tongue slowly push inside, warm hands on his thighs holding them open, thumbs circling his heated flesh.

A finger joins his tongue, slowly pressing deeper, deeper… OH! And there it is, the pad of that finger massaging his gland, and electric zings of pleasure shoot straight up Sam’s cock, and through every single nerve ending in his entire body. He’s gasping for breath, and Gabe keeps it just enough so he can’t come, adding fingers and stretching him. God, he’s dying over here. Sam can’t even tell if he’s making noises anymore, and his ears are ringing. Gabriel is relentless, and eventually Sam feels like he’s not even in his own body anymore.

Reduced to a mindless mass, Sam’s consciousness snaps back to attention as Gabe slides inside with a smooth motion. Unfocused eyes look up, and he swears he can almost make out the glowing, golden outline of wings rising behind Gabriel. When the angel notices, he grins and picks up speed.

Sam can see his lips move, and he focuses to hear the steady stream of praise and pleasure coming from Gabriel’s lips. He watches, entranced, as his lover curls over him, soft skin, muscle, and heat undulating above him, taking him, loving him. Inside, he feels the tension and pleasure build and build to even higher heights with each thrust, and then his eyes roll back, as the force of his orgasm rolls through him like the tide. Sam’s no longer corporeal, he’s one with the fucking stars, spread across the galaxy as the orgasm rolls through him over and over again.

Some unknown time later, Sam comes to, unbound, with Gabriel draped over him. Limbs like jelly, he turns his head to nuzzle Gabe’s hair.

“Killed me,” he mumbles.

Gabriel chuckles into his neck and nibbles lightly at his damp flesh.

“Seriously, You killed me and brought me back, didn’t you.”

Gabe props himself up on Sam’s chest and looks down at him. “Well, for a moment I did think your heart was going to stop.” He leans down, kissing Sam’s chin. “But I wouldn't let anything bad happen to ya.”

With a smile, Sam flops his head to the side, and sees the notification light on his phone blinking.

“Gabe, can you get that? I don’t think my muscles wanna cooperate yet.”

He watches as Gabriel stretches across him for the phone, and unlocks it.

“Message from Charlie.”

What’s it say?”

Gabriel turns it so Sam can read it.

_I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you’ve got going on, but you’ll want to see this ASAP._

Groaning, Gabriel rolls off Sam and stands up surveying the mess they made of the bed. With a snap of his fingers, both of them are clean and clothed. Sam really doesn’t want to get out of bed,  but once he regains the use of his limbs, he manages to get himself upright. They make it to the library to see Charlie watching some celebrity gossip program. It’s covering a Hollywood movie premiere, discussing what everybody’s wearing. Charlie rewinds to a point, and zooms in on a darker section off to the side. What they see is Dean and Crowley, in matching suits. Watching Michael Bay walk down the red carpet.

*****

_-Day 1, about 120 Hell days-_

So, demons don’t sleep, right? Well Dean doesn’t care, and Hell is boring enough without some way to pass the time, and sleeping is a luxury he can afford since he’s not tasked with torturing. If only Crowley would let him go topside more often, it wouldn’t be so bad. But no, he has to take care of a fucking Hellhound pup.

Yeah, the thing was all cute at first, when it wasn’t chewing on his things or pissing everywhere. Once it got the idea of not pissing in Dean’s room, they got along better. He named the pup Scrappy Doo, because he could, Scrappy for short. If anyone dared even snicker behind Dean’s back at the name, they got beaten down, much to dean’s pleasure. Of course it wasn’t long before the hound no longer fit the namesake, growing to the size of a small Labrador within four months. And it’s still growing. Thing eats like a horse, and even though Dean personally finds it disgusting, the scraps cast off from the torture racks help keep all the Hellhounds fed well.

Said hound is currently standing on Dean’s dick. He throws his pillow at it, “Off, you mangy mutt.”

This gets a happy yip, and the dog excitedly scrambles up to lick his face. Fuck, Hell-breath. First thing he’s gonna do when he gets topside is buy some of those dog-biscuits that freshen breath. Damn. Maybe a couple of cases. Groaning, he barks out orders in the language they insisted he use in training.

“Toatar, darbs. Faorgt.” (Listen, obey. Home.)

Scrappy whines, but heads for the bed Dean has fashioned in the corner, made of soft fabric. While Dean changes into clothes for training, the dog keeps eyes locked on him adoringly. Once he’s ready, he looks at Scrappy, and says, “Alright, you can come now.”

They head down to get the hound some breakfast, and then Dean will go to the training arena. He wishes he could get himself something to eat. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy, hash browns. Fucking cinnamon rolls. And that’s just breakfast. Oh, he hopes his next assignment includes enough time to get a full day’s worth of meals in. Demons may not need to eat, but damn he enjoys it. He didn’t even have the desire to eat when the Mark took a stronger hold, and then when he was converted, but he supposes absence makes the tastebuds grow fonder or something.

In the training arena, he’s met with an assortment of fairly young demons. Of course, they’ve all been here longer than Dean, but none of them have his fighting skills or training. As a knight of Hell, one of his duties is to train demons how to fight. It’s something he’s good at, and he doesn’t have to go easy on them. Dean finds the violence curbs his need to actually kill, so he enjoys his daily sessions of whipping demon-ass into shape.

\- - -

 _-Day 2, about four Hell months late_ r-

Today Dean has been combining fighting training with Hellhound commands. He’s using Scrappy, whose shoulders come up higher than his waist now, to chase after the poor saps who have to pretend to be the humans. Of course the dog never takes anything seriously, the stupid mutt. He just enjoys the game, yipping excitedly instead of using the menacing growl that his other littermates have already developed.

Maybe it’s because Dean refuses to send him to the hound fights, where demons place bets on which hellhound can incapacitate the other the fastest. Nah. Scrappy can stay right by Dean, where he can gleefully gnaw on demon ankles, snap at necks, claw soft bellies. Dean likes the fact that his hound doesn’t look as mean as the others, either. Maybe it’s his own way of getting over his own hellhound ordeal, but Scrappy’s become his partner, always by his side. He’s gonna be huge too, in spite of being the runt of the litter. Scrappy’s already bigger than most of the hounds his age. Too bad he thinks he’s a lapdog. If Dean still had to worry about procreation, those giant paws would have crushed his hopes down the drain.

\- - -

During Dean’s after-training soak, in his giant tub adjacent to his room, he feels the tingle of Crowley’s damn control bracelet. Staring at the solid twist of metal around his wrist, Dean grumbles and gets Scrappy to fetch his phone. Demonic cellphones were one of the first things Dean suggested when Crowley began reinforcing his status as King of Hell. They’re better than having to slit someone’s throat whenever you’re topside just to make a call. Of course, Crowley always had his own personal phone, but the thought of having some made for others was apparently lost on most demons, having been out of touch with the human world for far too long. But the least Crowley could do was make sure his knight had an easy method of communication on hand.

When the hound brings Dean his phone, it almost gets dropped in the tub, it’s so covered in slobber. He calls Crowley’s direct line, using the speaker and listening to it ring far from his face.

“Dean. Is there a reason you’re calling me instead of standing in my office?”

“Yeah, I’m taking a fucking bath after training. Can whatever it is wait a few minutes?”

There’s a lengthy pause. “You really have been getting lax in your manners lately, Dean. However, I’ll overlook it this time, since being freshly scrubbed works perfectly with my plans. There’s a valet coming your way. Be dressed in what he brings you, in my office, in fifteen minutes.”

***

Wearing his new tailored suit, Dean is standing in front of Crowley’s desk, his Hellhound at his heel.  The King of Hell stands up from his cushioned chair, and stands before them, scrutinizing the hound, whose tongue is lolling out of his mouth excitedly, his short tail whumping the carpet. While Crowley is mildly impressed by the animal’s size, he’s far from amused at its friendly demeanor.

“Runt of the litter, and you gave it a ridiculous name. How is anyone supposed to take this seriously when it comes for their soul?” He flaps his hand at the hound.

He watches Dean’s reactions to his dismissal carefully, as Dean replies, “Does it matter, as long as you get results?”

Unimpressed, Crowley’s mouth forms a displeased moue. He says, “Perhaps it might give the damned a false sense of security, but Hell has a reputation to uphold. This is a caricature.”

He watches as Dean clenches his jaw, his hands tighten into fists. Dean’s words come out clipped, “I assure you, he is thoroughly trained and is as ready for duty as any other Hellhound that has not experienced Earth.”

Still not entirely convinced, Crowley leans back against his desk. Well, he had intended this as a trial run, and besides, he’s going to keep an eye on them. He’ll have his own hound ready as well, just in case. How badly can they screw this up? After another disdainful glance at the overly chipper hound, Crowley explains their mission.

There’s a soul that’s a little past-due for collection, but he’s been giving this one leeway to finish a current project. It’s one he made personally, and it’s high-profile. Handing Dean a pair of Aviator-style sunglasses, he explains the last thing they need is for people to see his eyes change unexpectedly. Once the shades are in place, Crowley gives the hellhound another dubious glance.

“Are you sure both you and your hound are ready for this mission?”

Watching Dean carefully, he notices the tick of his jaw, a twitch of the shoulder. No, he’s not sure, but then again, it is an untested hound.

“Yes,” Dean replies.

Hmm… The boy has balls; but then again, Dean is used to being in over his head. Well, no trial like a trial by fire.

“Then let’s go, shall we?”

***

They materialize in an enormous hotel suite. Immediately, Scrappy is sniffing everything and bounding around excitedly.

“Control. Your. Beast, Dean.”

After a couple short, terse commands, Dean has his hound by his side again, but he can feel the excitement radiating off of him, and he watches as Scrappy sniffs the air excitedly. Honestly, he has no idea if he can control his Hellhound on Earth. At least the dog seems to be handling the transition well, and following commands. There was no way he was going to pass up his chance to go topside. He leaves the excited hound in the suite, which is in some snazzy hotel in Hollywood. While Dean tries to not gawk, he follows Crowley to go scope the target.

They end up on the outskirts of a movie premiere, watching actors and actresses walk down a red carpet surrounded by throngs of paparazzi and fans. That’s Mark Wahlberg, isn’t it? While Dean’s wondering who the target is, he checks out his surroundings. Damn, it’s so good to be out of Hell’s stink. Maybe if they end up with some free time after, he’ll get to have a night on the town. Crowley guides Dean by the elbow to get closer to the crowd, and he points out their target. Oh. Michael Bay? Suddenly, so much makes sense.

They’re going to wait until later tonight, after the partying has wound down. Now that he knows their target, and there’s a few hours to kill, Dean wonders what he’s going to do with himself, dressed in a monkey suit, until it’s party time. Crowley’s actually loosening his leash for once. Maybe he’ll take in the sights. Been a while since he’s been to California.

Dean thinks of Sam, Stanford, the set of Hell Hazers 2. To shake his mood, Dean heads to the beach to eat some junk food, ogle girls in bikinis, maybe gut a couple of thugs who get in his face.

*****

In Los Angeles, just a few blocks from the movie premiere, Sam and Gabriel touch down with the flutter of wings. When they arrive, there’s no sign of Dean or Crowley, no dead bodies or general panic. Whatever they were here for, it wasn’t violent. Sam thinks maybe they were scoping out the target, because lurking at the edges of the premiere of _Transformers 4_ just doesn’t seem like something Crowley would do for fun.

While they consider their next move, Sam’s phone buzzes, and it’s a text from Charlie. Apparently, there’s a guy down near the Santa Monica Pier, that looks a lot like Dean. And he’s wearing a black suit, in the middle of Summer. Sam turns to Gabe to see his eyes unfocused, head cocked to the side. Before he can say anything, his phone buzzes again in his hand.

_-Hey, I think Gabriel should come back to the bunker a sec, there’s someone on the radio who really wants to talk to him._

_-Seriously._

Gabriel’s eyes snap back into focus, and he’s turning to Sam. “Listen, I need to go deal with a situation. You mind chilling out in L.A. while I go deal with it?”

Sam waves his phone, “Yeah, if Charlie’s texts are anything to go by, it sounds serious.”

Before he can say any more, Gabe gives him a quick peck on the lips, and vanishes.

“I’ll just go down to the pier myself, then,” says Sam to himself. Exasperated, he hails a taxi.

***

Gabriel doesn’t go to the bunker, he goes straight to Heaven. Castiel is waiting in his office with an irritated scowl.

“Good, you’re here. Let’s go before they move again.”

“Whoa there kemosabe,” Gabriel holds his hands up, “You’re not going anywhere. The only reason I showed up is to keep you from doing something stupid.”

When Castiel tries to shove past him, he grabs his shoulder firmly. “How’d you even find out, anyway?”

Castiel looks down at his brother with a stormy expression. “I used the radio and was going to check up on the search. Charlie told me.”

Dammit. When Gabriel got the urgent and slightly hysterical prayer from Cas, he knew they were going to be in for it. He’d never considered the possibility of Cas actually using the damn radio while they were chasing down a lead. Sam had confirmed just how bad it was with Charlie’s texts. Gabriel takes a good look at Castiel, seeing just how little Grace is left in him.

“Ya know, you’re kind of running on empty there, champ. Maybe you should sit this one—”

“I am tired of sitting around and waiting. Waiting for the Song to be completed. Waiting to find out about Dean. I need to do something, Gabriel.” Castiel pushes past the archangel, and heads toward the elevator doors that lead to the Door. “I’ll drive myself to California if I have to.”

“And that’s the something stupid I was expecting,” Gabriel mutters under his breath before following Castiel to the Door.

Once they’re in the playground that houses the Earth side of the Door, Gabriel takes the car keys from Castiel’s reluctant fist. They argue for a moment, but when Castiel realizes that Gabriel is going to fly him to Los Angeles to help look for Dean, he sags in partial relief. Gabriel thinks this is all going to go to shit somehow, because it always does when the Winchesters are involved. Add little baby bro Castiel to the mix? Yup, it’s all gonna go sideways, just you wait.

*****

Sam pays the taxi driver and steps out into the bright, late afternoon sunshine. He’s surprised that it’s actually not scorching hot. Even after his years at Stanford, he still has this mindset that California should be hot. Maybe that’s because they grew up watching too much television. He takes in a lungful of sea air, and the ocean breeze blows his hair back.

He takes his time scouring the pier. If Dean has already left, he has no idea which direction he might have gone. So he wanders through the attractions and shops, and peeks into the restaurants. Nothing.

Once he makes his way back to the entrance to the pier, Sam looks up the beach and then down. If he were Dean, well… a demon version of him, which direction would he go? To the north, it’s less populated. But that could be because the Highway blocks beach access. South, there are plenty of public areas, and it’s more crowded. If he’s got a fix on Dean’s behavior lately, he’ll be looking for some form of action. Fighting, sex, something. Sam just hopes Dean hasn’t already found what he’s looking for.

He heads south, keeping an eye out for the dark suit Charlie described. He stays on the concrete path to avoid getting sand in his boots, and slows when he gets to an area that’s been set up as a public space. It’s crowded, so he sticks to the periphery. Not seeing any sign of Dean, he moves on.

After a while, Sam becomes discouraged and considers turning around. But then he notices some activity near a public restroom area and goes to investigate. There seems to be some kind of altercation involving a… man in a dark suit. He rushes over, to see some shirtless, muscle builder type getting pounded into the sand by his brother.

“Dean!” he calls over the heads of the bystanders.

The Aviator shades Dean is wearing have slipped down his face during the fight, and Sam can see his black eyes. Dean’s head perks up, and he pauses, his bloodied fist cocked back and ready to deliver another blow.

“Dean, stop!”

Dean pushes the beaten man down, and straightens his suit jacket, pushes his shades higher on his nose. With a smirk on his face and a glance in Sam’s direction, he takes off around the side of one of the buildings. Sam follows, but as he rounds the corner, Dean has vanished.

After checking to make sure Dean didn’t just slip back into the crowd, Sam wearily makes his way back to the pier. The shock of seeing Dean, and the confirmation that he is actually a demon, it turns his stomach. He finds it takes twice as long to get back to the pier as it did to make it out there. By the time Sam climbs the last step to the pier, he feels exhausted. Limbs heavy, he drops onto a bench and hangs his head, elbows on his knees. He feels overwhelmed, and doesn’t even notice when Gabe and Cas appear by his side.

“Sam?” Gabe’s voice is soft but demanding, and when Sam looks up, he can see the worry in his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong, bucko?”

Sam looks to Cas, then back at Gabe. Every time he thinks he’s going to speak, the words get caught in his throat, and he just… can't. His vision goes wavery. Gabriel places a hand in his hair and pulls him to his chest, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and rocking him gently.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

After a moment, Gabe asks, “If you can’t tell me, can I take a quick peek?”

Nodding, Sam braces himself when Gabe pulls him away and presses lips to his forehead. There’s a gasp when the angel sees what he saw, the black eyes, bloody knuckles, and the face that recognized him, but didn’t care. The lights were on, but no one was home. Releasing a sob, Sam collapses back into Gabriel’s arms, and fights the urge to curl up in his lap. He just feels so raw.

***

Gabriel gives Castiel a look over Sam’s huddled form. When the archangel holds out his hand, Castiel reaches out and grasps it. They’re transported to a hotel room that’s nicer than the cheap motels the Winchesters normally stay in. They’re in a small living area with a kitchenette, with doors that lead to two separate bedrooms and a bathroom. Gabriel looks at him, and they share a silent conversation, with the archangel expressing the need for time to rest after seeing his brother. A quick flash the scene Gabriel extracted from Sam’s mind is transferred with a thought, and Castiel has to grab the back of a chair to remain upright.

Dean, oh no, _Dean_.

Castiel must admit, he was harboring a sliver of hope that perhaps it wasn’t true. Now, he wonders just how bad it is. How much of Dean is left? He withstood forty years of Hell with his soul relatively bright and intact. Just how much has the Mark done to him? While he’s been ruminating these thoughts, Gabriel has taken Sam to one of the bedrooms and has come out to grab a bottle of water. He places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“You okay, bro?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Go take care of Sam.”

With a nod, Gabriel pats his shoulder and disappears behind a door. Castiel goes to a window and stares down to the street, watching everyone else’s lives go about like normal. But he can’t just sit here and pretend everything is normal. Not with his Grace burning out, and Dean a demon.


	4. Where I'm going, will you follow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After noticing that Cas is in L.A., Dean lures him out to an abandoned warehouse to toy with him for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: Alright, if you’re sensitive at all to violence and/or rape, avoid this chapter. Just read the notes at the bottom for an overall summary and move along. However, if you do continue to read, it doesn’t go the whole way. But it’s still gonna hurt.
> 
> Un-Beta'd

_My heart is old, it holds my memories_

_My body burns a gem-like flame_

_Somewhere between the soul and soft machine_

_Is where I find myself again_

-Mr. Mister, Kyrie-

* * *

Dean pops back into the hotel, and his Hellhound immediately pounces on him, paws on his shoulders, licking his face and sniffing his knuckles. Pushing the mutt away, Dean goes to the mini-bar that’s almost as well-stocked as a real bar. After grabbing a handful of whatever tiny bottles are closest, he flops down on a sofa.

Shit. Sam was there. How was Sam there? Crowley had mentioned Sam was using Gabriel to get around, but how did they find him? Why are they even bothering? It’s not like they can just make the Mark go away. And he’s actually a demon now. Not just a soul in Hell, being twisted into a tool, but a full-fledged, unkillable knight.

After downing a few mini-bottles of liquor, Dean decides he should run Scrappy through his paces to make sure they don’t screw up tonight. He finds a suitably empty warehouse and they practice for a while. When he feels things are as good as they’re going to get, he decides to try walking his hound home, since no one can see it anyway. As they get closer to the city proper, and the sidewalks get more crowded, Dean is thinking they should zap back to their room, because bumping into an invisible, giant dog, who is behaving remarkably well, by the way, might get noticed.

Dean slips into an alley entrance, ready to go, when he sees a flash of tan, and a mop of dark hair. He freezes. It couldn’t be. Edging to the alley opening, he gets a better look. In the midst of normal, human souls, is the tiniest flicker of angelic Grace. Well, it looks like things just got more interesting. Once he gets a bead on where a certain dying angel is heading, he drops off Scrappy at the hotel and goes back to the street, a couple blocks ahead of where he saw the trenchcoated figure.

When he’s spotted his target, Dean makes sure he’s about a half block ahead at all times. He can tell when Cas recognizes him, because he can feel what’s left of that angelic presence speed up. Dean also increases his pace, making sure to find a convenient corner to slip around before vanishing. While he’s playing, Dean realizes they’re getting back into the area he was using to train Scrappy. This little game of cat-and-mouse could lead to catching himself a playtoy. The game takes a while, as the guttering Grace leaves the angel weakened. Dean has to stop occasionally to make sure to not lose him.

As the amount of people around them thins, Dean pulls further ahead. By the time he’s near the warehouse, only a couple of vagrants are milling around. With one more glance back to make sure he’s being followed, he dashes into the warehouse and waits. This is going to be so much fun.

Dean peeks out of a dirty window and takes the opportunity to get a really good look at the weakened angel. He can see what looks like is supposed to be wings, but they’re practically devoid of feathers, and are blackened. They kind of remind him of burnt Buffalo wings. He’d hoped for the opportunity to see Cas’ true form, but since there’s not much Grace, he can just barely make out a blue glow that looks a little misshapen compared to the human form. The head area looks bigger, like maybe there’s multiples. When Cas gets closer, Dean can see just how worn out his vessel looks. Definitely not gonna be long now. He ignores any twinge he feels at the thought of Cas snuffing out of existence.

He finds an open spot to stand and puts on a cocky air. As Cas enters the warehouse and locks his eyes on Dean, Dean can’t help but note his expression. What is that? A touch of disbelief? Maybe some fear? Heavy dose of shock mixed in, too. Dean steps forward, arms crossed, and inclines his head.

“Hey there, angel,” he says in a seductive tone.

*****

Castiel decides to go for a walk, clear his mind. At first, he just kind of wanders aimlessly and lets the flow of people guide him. He thinks about where they might find Dean before the soul is claimed. While Dean is a demon, there are still some basic traits that would carry over. Perhaps Dean is indulging in hedonism while he’s here. As he finds himself getting closer to what could be considered a more dangerous part of the city, Castiel thinks of checking bars and brothels. While he’s trying to decide which direction to head next, he sees a soul stained with demon.

Wait, that’s not the look of the possessed, or one condemned, either. Is that...? Castiel increases his pace, trying to get closer to whoever that soul belongs to. Dare he imagine it’s Dean? But why would he be out here, amongst the masses? For a moment, Castiel loses sight of what he hopes is Dean, but as he nears a corner, spots him again.

While he’s following, Castiel doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, and soon ends up in a desolate part of town. He’s exhausted, and somehow has still managed to keep up. Up ahead, he sees what must be the familiar bow-legged gait of Dean. The person disappears into an old warehouse. As he draws closer, Castiel knows he’ll find Dean inside. Who else could it be? Now that he has a chance to examine his surroundings, he fears this may be a trap. Even so, Castiel shakes off his fatigue and enters the warehouse. Once inside, he gets a good look at who he’s been following.

A chill runs through Castiel when he truly sees Dean for the first time in weeks. While Dean’s body looks hale and healthy, his soul… oh, no. Even with his waning Grace he can see that it’s not torn and ragged yet still bright like it had been when Castiel had raised him from Hell. No, Dean’s soul looks more emaciated, drained. Its light is dimmed by a dark haze that seems to be smothering it. His soul is starving.

Dean’s eyes are black, and he’s standing with a cocky expression. “Hey there, angel.”

His voice slips around Castiel, slick like oil. He wonders how much of the damage done to Dean is the Mark, and how much is because of Crowley. A flash of silver glinting from a wrist catches his attention, and Castiel thinks he recognizes what it could be.

Standing as straight as possible, Castiel clears his throat and tries to say as steadily as possible, “Hello Dean.”

With a haughty huff, Dean spreads his arms wide, “I see you’ve been following me. Well, what are you going to do now? Try to drag me back to my hypocrite brother?”

“I will do what I must.”

Hand on a hip, Dean barks out a laugh. “Like to see you try.”

“Dean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Black eyes glint at him, “You? Hurt me?” Dean laughs bitterly. “Oh, angel, I’m surprised you’re still standing, let alone thinking of bringing me down.”

The refusal to use Castiel’s name stabs an icy needle through his heart. How is he going to reach what’s left of the man behind the demon?

“Dean, listen to me.”

“No, you listen to me.” Dean saunters right up to Castiel, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “I ain’t going anywhere, except to go collect a soul. You, or rather,” he looks Castiel up and down,  “what’s left of you, can’t stop me.”

Castiel starts chanting a demon suppression spell in Enochian, and Dean’s hand is immediately around his throat, preventing him from continuing. The hand tightens and Dean lifts Castiel until he’s only touching the floor with the tips of his shoes. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and because he’s weak enough to need to breathe, he can feel his lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen. His hands slap uselessly at Dean’s forearm.

Dean leans in close and whispers in his ear. “You know what? It’s been a while since I’ve been let out of Hell. How about we have one final fuck before your Grace burns out?”

Dean bites Castiel’s jaw. “And don’t worry, you’re weak enough, I doubt what’s left can really hurt me. And if it does? Well…” He traces his tongue along Castiel’s bottom lip, “It’ll hurt so good.”

No, this is not what Castiel wanted. He was hoping there would be some shred of Dean left inside, something to save. If there is anything left, he has to try to reach it. He goes limp in Dean’s grip. Dean pulls back and looks at him with a leer.

“Giving it up so quickly, angel? Didn’t realize you were so desperate for my dick.”

When Dean’s grip loosens, Castiel takes a ragged breath and hoarsely says, “This isn’t you, Dean.”

Dean mocks back at him in imitation, “This isn’t you, Dean.” He tilts his head back, “Hah! This isn’t me? You realize I’m not possessed, right? All that’s in here is me.”

Dean pushes Castiel back and spreads his hands out at his sides. “I’m the upgrade, buddy. I’m leaner and meaner, and there’s no more pesky conscience to tie me down.”

He stalks toward Castiel slowly, “You could say I’m new and improved.”  

Castiel’s throat feels tight, and not just from damage, and he backs away from Dean’s advance. “Dean,” he chokes out, “Please. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I want to.”

Lightning quick, Dean grabs Castiel by the back of the head and presses their mouths together. Castiel can feel his lip split when it slams into Dean’s teeth, and a tongue tasting of sulfur and ash licks at the well of blood that forms before shoving into his mouth, and it is revolting. That’s one angelic sense that has yet to fade, and the taste of demon makes him want to retch. Castiel tries to push him away, but Dean’s grip is like iron. Desperate, he bites down hard on the soft flesh of Dean’s tongue.

Yanking back, Dean scowls at him. “You want it rough? Okay, we can play it rough.”

One hand still gripping Castiel’s neck, he backhands him across the face with the other. Pain explodes across his cheek, mouth and nose, and Castiel can taste his own blood. Using it to clean out the taste of demon, Castiel spits, and the pinkish glob lands on Dean’s lapel.

“Aww, you had to go and do that to my new suit.”

He drops Castiel in a heap, and uses his pocket square to wipe at where Castiel spit on him. While Dean’s distracted, Castiel pulls out his angel blade and waits for him to get close. When Dean leans forward to grab at the trenchcoat, Castiel surges up, and presses his blade to Dean’s throat.

Dean laughs, twisting the blade easily from Castiel’s hand. With a wicked grin, he licks the edge of the angel blade, then punches Castiel in the face, letting him go as he falls to the floor.

On the cold concrete, Castiel curls in on himself. His face is alight with hot pain, nose throbbing and possibly broken. Warm blood drips from his nostrils, and he gulps in breath through his mouth. This should be nothing compared to what he endured from Theo while human, but the fact that it’s Dean behind the blows makes it hurt worse.

Dean grabs him by the leg and drags him deeper into the warehouse, “For privacy,” he says. When he seems satisfied by the change in location, he slings Castiel into a stack of pallets, and Castiel thinks he can hear a rib crack. Air punched out of him, he gasps weakly as Dean watches with amusement. He pokes the tip of his shoe into Castiel’s ribs, and the pain causes him to cry out.

“Now I think I understand, Cas.” Dean pulls Castiel away from the pallets and splays him out face-up. “When you beat me in that alley.” He sits on Castiel’s hips, “And back in the crypt.”

Castiel watches weak light reflect off the shining surface of his angel blade as Dean twirls it. “Please, Dean. Stop this,” he rasps weakly.

Using the angel blade, Dean slices open Castiel’s shirt, baring Castiel’s torso, already beginning to bruise.

“Whatsa matter, you come into my dreams, and take advantage of my weakened inhibitions to fuck me, but you won’t give it up for me now that I want it?”

 _Not like this, never like this,_ thinks Castiel.

With a flick of his wrist, Dean yanks open Castiel’s slacks and tugs them down his squirming hips. He scowls when he sees the angel’s limp prick. Castiel stops struggling. Maybe it will hurt less this way.

Dean sits back, watching him warily at the lack of struggle. “There, you see? You don’t have to make this bad, I’ll make it feel real good.”

Tears well from Castiel’s eyes. rolling down the sides of his face, pooling in his ears, stinging in a split in his cheek. “This isn’t you,” he whispers in a chant, to remind himself as much as Dean.  

The back of Dean’s hand smacks him across the face again, and Dean flips him over so that he’s sprawling face-first onto the cold concrete floor. Castiel flops over limply and silently, too exhausted and in pain, all resistance gone. What little is left of his Grace, he can feel oozing out of him.

As he feels the last of his clothing stripped roughly from him, he thinks that this isn’t how he wanted his final farewell with Dean to go. Closing his eyes, fat, hot tears seep between his lashes. He feels Dean’s hard, hot length rub between his ass cheeks, and the thought that this Dean is excited from causing pain is sickening.

 _This isn’t really Dean_ , he thinks, and he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Dean reaches around and grasps Castiel’s limp cock in his hand, and stills. He gives it a few tugs, but when he gets no reaction, he growls and bites Cas’ shoulder. When that doesn’t get even a twitch of interest, or even a flinch, he suddenly pulls away, leaving Cas’ backside exposed to the cool air.

Castiel hears Dean swear softly before his presence vanishes. Feeling the last of his strength leave him, he lays there with aching bones and heart, seeping blood and the last of his Grace onto the cold floor.

*****

Back in their hotel room, Gabriel paces in agitation, desperately trying to get a location or even a response from Cas. Sam’s sitting at the table, cell phone in his hand, trying to get him to pick up.

“Why can’t I get through, Sam? I know his Grace is hella weak right now, but I should at least be getting some kind of ping, even with that damn tattoo.”

Sam brings up their cell provider’s website, and begins entering information. “Just hold on, I’m gonna track his phone.”

“I swear, of all the Winchester traits to pick up, he had to go and choose poor decision making skills.”

Gabriel gets a fierce scowl from Sam, who stops what he’s doing long enough to make the archangel start pacing again.

“Less bitchface, more searching, Sam.”

After a tense couple of minutes while the site pings the GPS in Cas’ phone, Gabriel looms over Sam’s shoulder, biting a knuckle. Where in the hell could Castiel have gone? He doesn’t know where to even start to look for Dean, and he’s weak enough that even a normal human could give him trouble. Oh Father, what if he’s been mugged by normals?

He jumps when Sam cries out triumphantly, pointing to a little red dot east of Harbor Freeway, and a couple blocks south of Manchester Avenue. Before Sam can even speak, Gabriel is outside a warehouse, desperately feeling for traces of Castiel’s Grace. When he thinks he can feel where Castiel might be, he rushes inside to find a bleeding, naked Castiel sprawled face-first on the floor. As he gets closer, he can detect the tainted presence of demon.

Dropping to his knees next to the too-still form, Gabriel heals all the physical injuries he can find. But Castiel still doesn’t move, what’s left of his Grace barely keeping him breathing. Gabriel scoops Castiel's limp body into his arms and blinks straight back to the hotel, where he gingerly lays him down on a bed.

Sam stumbles in, takes a look at Cas’ still form and swears. “Shit, Gabe, is he…”

“Not yet, go get me the syringe.”

When Sam comes back with the needle used for Grace extraction, Gabriel has Cas tucked under the covers.

“Just hold on, little one. We’re not going to lose you yet.”

With Sam’s help, he extracts enough of his own Grace to revive Castiel.

“Gabe, are you sure this is going to work?”

“Nope. Got any better ideas?”

Gabriel takes the syringe full of glowing archangel Grace, and plunges it straight into Castiel’s chest, pushing down the plunger.

“Get out, Sam!” he cries, seeing Castiel’s body begin to glow. “This is enough to fry out your eye sockets!”

An arm over his eyes, Sam stumbles from the room, closing the door behind him as the light intensifies.

“By Dad, I hope this works,” Gabriel mumbles as he watches his Grace swirl brighter and brighter through Castiel’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “I’m not reading this chapter” summary: After Dean lures Cas to an abandoned warehouse, he beats him up, but doesn’t get the reaction he was expecting. He disappears, leaving behind a broken and dying Castiel. Gabriel finds him just in time, and extracts enough of his own Grace to revive him.


	5. On a highway in the light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally capture Dean and perform the demon cure ritual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, unbeta'd.  
> CW/TW: Brief mentions of the almost-rape that happened previous chapter. some show-level violence, some Latin (translation at the bottom), some borrowed lines from 10.03, Demon cure happens slightly differently, Dean gets mouthy. Maybe some mild torture?

_Baby, I think tonight_

_We can take what was wrong and make it right_

_Baby, it's all I know_

_That you're half of the flesh_

_And blood that makes me whole_

_I need you so_

\- Mr. Mister: Broken Wings - 

* * *

Castiel regains consciousness as the rejuvenating light fades from his body. He stopped considering it a vessel long ago. After being vaporized and then coming back in Jimmy Novak’s body minus Jimmy’s soul, it was a gradual acceptance. He brings a hand to his face, and feels the new thrum of Grace pulsing through him. The resonating Grace at his side lets him know that Gabriel shared his. The archangel proceeds to berate him for going out alone.

During Gabriel’s tirade, Sam cracks open the door and peeks in. With a feeble smile, Castiel waves him in and sits up, and it makes Gabriel shut up, even though the disgruntled look doesn’t leave his face. When Castiel notices Sam’s unwillingness to look directly at him, he looks down to discover his nakedness.

“My apologies, Sam. Gabriel, would you mind?” Castiel looks at Gabriel expectantly, while gesturing at himself.

A snap of Gabriel’s fingers, and Castiel is wearing loose jeans, a black t-shirt, and an unbuttoned, green flannel shirt. The clothing is so familiar, he half expects it to smell of Dean. He’s a little disappointed that it doesn’t. Now that Castiel is clothed, Sam approaches the bed and places a hand on his shoulder.

“How you feeling, Cas?”

“Better, thank you,” Castiel replies, a small smile on his lips. He turns to Gabriel and asks, “How did you find me? The warding tattoo—”

“You can thank the moose over here for that one,” Gabriel nods at Sam, “He used the GPS in your cell phone to track you down.” His face clouds over. “What the hell were you thinking, Cassie? If we hadn’t found you…”

“I know, and I apologise.”

Castiel begins with how he had originally intended to simply clear his thoughts. But when he thought he had spotted Dean in the crowd, he couldn’t help but follow. Sam is looking at him with sympathy and anticipation, but when Castiel gets to what happened in the warehouse, he can’t continue and looks away. Gabriel picks it up from there.

“Cas was pretty beat up when I got there, and I healed him before bringing him back.”

Sam’s face looks stern, and he purses his lips before he speaks, “Why were you naked, Cas?”

Unable to look up at Sam, Castiel closes his eyes at the memory of what Dean almost did. The bed shifts as Sam sits on its edge, and a warm hand is placed on his shoulder.

“Gabe, can you give us a minute?” Sam says softly.

There’s the shuffle of wings, and Castiel opens his eyes to look up at Sam, a worried look in his eyes as he chews his lip.

“Cas, you can tell me. What did… Did Dean… Ummm…”

Looking away before he can answer, he replies, “Dean stripped me, and planned on…” he sorts through his relatively new knowledge of literature for a way to say it, “taking me forcefully.”  Sam lets out a shaky breath, and Castiel continues.

“But he stopped, Sam. When he saw I wasn’t aroused, and couldn’t be enticed, he stopped.”

Castiel opens his eyes and looks into Sam’s confused but relieved face. “Your brother’s still in there somewhere. He can still be saved.”

*****

Crowley is reclining in an overstuffed chair when Dean returns to their suite. He wonders just what Dean got up to while he was out and about. He certainly smells like he beat the shit out of someone, but he doesn’t appear to have… assuaged his other thirst. Even though he can smell arousal,there isn’t a hint of release. In fact, Dean appears agitated over something. When the Hellhound leaps over to lick Dean’s face, he pushes it away with a growl. Interesting.

“About time you showed up,” says Crowley, “Get everything out of your system?”

He watches as Dean won’t meet his eyes, and mumbles something he can’t quite make out. Briefly, Crowley considers using the control bracelet to get Dean to tell him what his issue is. But that would defeat the purpose of tonight. He’s supposed to let Dean be autonomous. Yes, he’s going to be walking him through the steps, but Dean and his mutt are supposed to do the work themselves. If Dean’s Hellhound can successfully collect a soul for him, them he can give Dean a bit more autonomy. Crowley just hopes Dean’s sharp enough for tonight.

***

They lounge around the suite until it’s time. It turns out their target is staying in the same hotel. Crowley disappears to go wait in Michael Bay’s suite, while Dean waits for the signal to send in his hound. He’s a little nervous, and plays with the scruff at the back of Scrappy’s head. Crowley heavily implied that if tonight is successful, Dean would be allowed more surface time. While he waits, he tries to not remember what happened earlier this evening. He tries to not think about why he just left Cas there without taking him.

A ding from his cell phone alerts him to the text that Crowley sends saying things are a go. Dean and Scrappy rush into the director’s room, and the man is terrified at the sight of the hellhound at Dean’s side.

“Bahal,” whispers Dean, and the hound puts on a show, barking and snapping his jaws.

Luckily, the director is too busy wetting his pants at the sight of the large animal’s deadly jaws to notice his butt and tail are wagging happily. Unfortunately, Crowley notices and frowns. When Dean feels the man has been sufficiently terrified, he commands Scrappy to get down to business.

Just as he’s calling out the command “Drix”, the doors to the room burst open and Sam and Gabriel are standing there, ready for a fight. Gabriel flares out his golden wings, which distracts the Hellhound. Sam edges around the room for a better vantage point. Crowley tries to sic Scrappy on them, but because the order isn’t from Dean, the hound hesitates.

Scowl on his face, Crowley barks out, “Useless!” He tells Dean to abort the mission and promptly vanishes. Before Dean can, he’s splashed with something from behind, and it immediately begins burning like acid. Crying out at the pain, Dean collapses to his knees, and warded handcuffs are slapped on his wrists.

Scrappy growls at seeing Dean get attacked, and begins charging, but Gabriel deflects and sends him skidding into a wall. When Dean sees Gabe’s angel blade, he knows they’ll kill Scrappy. He’s gotta send him home, make him go.

“Toatar! Darbs! Faorgt!” (Listen! Obey! Go home!)

The Hellhound pauses and whines, obviously wanting to stay with his master.

Dean looks straight at Scrappy, “Ipam. Faorgt!” (No. Home!)

With another whine, the hound disappears. Gabriel lowers his blade and looks oddly at Dean, and back at where the Hellhound had stood. Sam’s holding Dean’s hands behind his back, and he calls to Gabriel.

“Where’s the Hellhound, Gabe?”

The angel’s posture relaxes, and he strides over to them. “It’s gone. Looks like Deano here picked up a few new tricks in Hell, huh?”

The brightness of Gabriel’s Grace makes Dean have to turn away. That, and his gaze looks like he’s x-raying Dean’s soul, or what’s left of it.

“Yeah, looks like Cassie was right. His soul isn’t corrupted like normal. We might still be able to bring him back.”

At the mention of Cas’ name, Dean whips his head up in surprise. He survived? Gabriel smirks down at him.

“Yeah, the kid’s still kickin. No thanks to you.”

The archangel’s hand presses to Dean’s forehead, and he feels a white-hot, searing pain shoot through him before everything goes dark.

\- - -

Dean comes to strapped down to a chair, and the bracelet on his wrist is burning with an urgency, demanding that he take action. _Good luck with that one_ , Dean thinks, shifting uncomfortably and surprised his eyes aren’t burned out of their sockets. He looks up to see he’s in a different hotel, and there’s a devil’s trap on the floor around him. He appears alone for the moment, and tests his bonds. Unfortunately, Sam knows how to tie a knot, and the cuffs still clamped around his wrists are meant to subdue demons. There’s a bright, searing pain that shoots up his arm with the force of Crowley’s will trying to make him comply. He cries out, in pain and frustration.

A door opens and Cas walks through, pausing as he looks at Dean. At the sight, Dean stops struggling. Even with what Gabriel had said, he’s still surprised to see Cas. He’s even more surprised to see the changes since just a few hours ago. His Grace is no longer faded, albeit not nearly as bright as Gabe’s. There are actual wings this time, with deep, dark bronze feathers, not just charred stumps. Even so, they’re small and stubby, practically vestigial.

Relief spears through Dean, before he remembers he’s not supposed to care if Cas is alive. He smirks and makes a comment that Gabe must have given him a booster shot of his own Grace to keep him kicking. Cas frowns at him and avoids his gaze as he passes behind Dean’s chair and through another door. The distraction of Cas gone, Dean feels the burning of his bracelet even stronger now. The inability to act, to get relief from the compulsion the bracelet is demanding, makes him grit his teeth.

***

Sam and Gabriel are talking when the door opens and Cas slips in, closing the door behind him firmly. His face looks blank, but Sam can think he can see Cas’ jaw twitch minutely.  He looks at Gabe, who stands and goes over to place a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“How you holding up, huh champ?”

“We should go before Crowley locates us. But the bracelet needs to be removed, first.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Gabe turns to Sam, “You want to hand me that notepad over there?”

Sam reaches for the notepad and pen on the nightstand and brings it over to Gabe. “What’s this about a bracelet?”

Cas explains, “It’s very old magic, and it allows the creator to control a demon. I assume Crowley has been using it to keep Dean in line, and to keep tabs on him. Crowley may be using it to try to summon Dean or locate him, and we need to remove it quickly, and before we go to the bunker. Also, it also causes the wearer a great deal of pain to disobey the will of the controller.”

Sam looks between Gabe, who’s scribbling something on the notepad, and Cas who is standing stiffly. “Can’t we just take it off?”

Cas’ shoulders slump, “Unfortunately, not without the creator breaking the binding to the item.”

Gabe looks up from the paper and grins, “Or if you have someone who just happens to know the spell to break it without the creator.”

He hands the pad to Sam, and pats him on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go get things set up, and then Cas and I will keep a look out while you do the spell.”

Sam follows them out of the room, trying to read Gabriel’s scrawl. It appears to be a couple of lines in Latin. He has a feeling it’s not going to be that easy, though. When he looks up, Gabriel’s already setting up candles at the pentagram points of the devil’s trap.

He looks up and winks at Sam, “Luckily, we don’t need to break the trap for this, but it still might draw the attention of Crowley and his goons.”

As Sam makes his way around to face Dean properly for the first time in, what? Almost two months? He sees the telltale stress lines of pain as he glowers at them all. And the black eyes. It makes him sick to see his brother like this. Castiel is standing at the window, his back turned to the room. Dean turns his head to face Sam and his mouth twists before speaking.

“What you gonna do, Sam? Try some special kind of exorcism? You know that only works if the body’s possessed, right? All you’ll do is kill me. Or will you? After all, I am a knight of Hell now. Maybe you’ll just smoke me out, and I’ll have to find a new body. Then what will you do? bury me again? Besides, you won’t even know who to look for any more.”

Dean stops with a grimace and winces, and Sam looks at Gabe, at a loss. Gabriel comes over to stand next to Dean, and nods at him.

“That pretty silver bangle a little uncomfortable there, bub? If you promise to be quiet, we’ll get it removed for ya.”

Growling, Dean lunges uselessly at Gabe against his bonds. “You think I haven’t tried to get this damn thing off? Not gonna happen unless Crowley wants it removed.”

Crooked smile in place, Gabe leans down near Dean’s face,  “Ancient Chinese secret,” he drawls.

Sam shifts to look at the bracelet in question, resting above the handcuff on Dean’s left wrist, glowing bright orange, like it’s been sitting in a fire.

“Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Gabe glances at it, “Yeah, it means Crowley’s trying to get Dean to do something. But we’ve got him on lockdown, so instead it’s making Dean _very_ uncomfortable. Right?”

Dean sneers and tugs at his binds again. Sam wants this over, and looks down at the paper in his hands, trying to make out the words. He mouths out the sounds, Gabe pulls him off to the side to make sure he’s good to go. While they’re conversing quietly in a corner, Castiel turns away from the window and looks at Dean with sadness in his eyes. Dean refuses to look back, and after a while, Cas drops his gaze with a sigh.

“We really should do this soon, Gabriel. The longer we’re here, the more likely we are to be found.”

With a nod, Gabe turns to Sam, and they hug tightly before he pulls away and heads toward the door. “Just follow what I said, and then we can all get outta here.” At that, he and Cas leave, the door clicking shut behind them.

Sam grabs a lighter and keeps his head down while he lights the candles around Dean. He startles a bit when Dean speaks again.

“So, you and Gabe are a thing now?” He says it with derision, like the thought is absurd.

“Yes Dean,” Sam says with a sigh, “We are.”

“Huh, I guess I’m a little disappointed in you, considering the douche only killed your brother a hundred times.” Dean keeps his tone cool, putting emphasis on the last two words. “But then again, I guess we’re just angel-nip, huh Sam?”

Standing up after lighting the last candle, Sam spreads out the paper in his hand and begins, “Foedus deleo et statum restituo, ex his catenis tuam voluntatem et tuam animam libero.*”

Dean’s left arm twitches, and he growls out, “What the Hell’re you doing Sam?” through clenched teeth.

Sam continues chanting the phrase, and the bracelet glows brighter and brighter, until it’s almost white. Dean’s breathing becomes irregular, and he growls through the pain. Slowly, the twists in the metal begin straightening, and as Dean gives in and yells out in pain, the bracelet slips from his wrist. As soon as it hits the floor, the glow fades, and it looks just like a simple, silver bangle once again. Dean is shivering, his breath ragged. Sam extinguishes the candles, calling for Gabriel to let him know it’s done.

It doesn’t take long for Gabriel and Castiel to come back into the room, looking harried. “They’ve found us,” Gabriel huffs, dragging Castiel and Sam into the circle with Dean. The last thing Sam sees before they’re whisked away, is a group of demons bursting through the door.

***

Sam and Gabriel are having a heated discussion about curing Dean in the library of the bunker. Charlie took off to go shopping after they returned, the sight of Dean with black eyes and in shackles, being dragged to the dungeon, was too much for her. Castiel has been pacing around the war room listening in.

“I don’t see why we can’t just use my blood, it almost worked on Crowley, and would have if I’d been able to complete the trials.”

“I told you, Sam. Regular human blood won’t be enough. He’s a _knight of Hell_. Practically a whole different breed.”

“And you said so yourself, that angel Grace might _fry_ him, Gabe. We’ve gotta do something.”

Castiel stands in the doorway, clears his throat to get their attention, and says, “I can do it.”

“No.” Both Sam and Gabriel say in unison.

“You need to save your Grace for the Song,”

“We have no idea how any amount of Grace will react with Dean,”

“Stop,” Castiel holds up his hand, and they both fall into silence.

“I understand the risks to both myself and Dean, but I am the best compromise. Regular human blood won’t be enough, and my Grace isn’t as strong as a normal angel’s.”

“But will your blood be compatible? Dean’s—”

“Jimmy’s… _my_ blood type is O negative, universal donor. Whatever type Dean has won’t matter.”

Castiel closes his eyes and gathers his thoughts before continuing. “One injection. I’ve learned how to dampen my Grace, we can use my blood when it’s weakest. If there’s no ill effect, we can continue, with the least amount of drain from my reserve. I believe that will satisfy both of your conditions?”

He watches as Gabriel and Sam look at each other, and Gabriel gives a less than enthusiastic shrug before turning away. Sam’s face scrunches up in dissatisfaction, and he stares hard at the floor.

“One injection, Cas.” Sam looks up into Castiel’s eyes. “If it looks like he can handle it, we’ll do it your way. If not, we use mine.”

Releasing a breath, Castiel lets his shoulders relax. Honestly, he’s not sure what will happen, injecting angel blood into a demon can have catastrophic effects. He pushes his doubts aside and asks, “What needs to be done first?”

First, his blood needs purifying, and when Sam says he had to confess, Castiel’s eyes widen. “I’ve done so much, where could I even start…”

Sam suggests a holy blessing might work, and looks at Gabriel pointedly.

“What, you think a runaway angel like me is going to be able to do a blessing properly?”

“You're an archangel, Gabe. The only one left. I think that you can think of a blessing or two.”

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel turns to Castiel, “Well, here goes nothing. I guess we should do this the old-fashioned way?”

With a nod, Castiel lowers himself so he’s kneeling. Gabriel stands before him. one hand on top of Castiel’s head, the other raised, elbow bent, palm out. Castiel closes his eyes as Gabriel begins chanting an old Enochian blessing. Castiel intones the responses where necessary, promising to uphold his duty as an angel of Heaven.

As he swears to protect humankind, he thinks that it’s a pity they stopped using this so long ago, because it’s obvious that the angels have forgotten their purpose. Perhaps after opening Heaven, they can all renew this vow. The blessing and prayer is long and ceremonial, and takes some time to complete. After Gabriel says the last syllable and presses a kiss of benediction on Castiel’s forehead, He helps him to his feet and they find Sam in the kitchen, brewing coffee.

Cup in hand, Sam smiles weakly. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

Castiel spends a few moments in a guest room while Sam prepares the dungeon for the ritual. He must dampen his Grace so that as little as possible ends up in his blood. When he’s ready, he withdraws the first syringe full and heads to the dungeon.

\- - -

Sam and Gabriel watch over the first injection. Right after Castiel injects Dean with his blood, Dean howls like a wounded animal, and his skin steams lightly. After a few moments he recovers, and he starts making as many sexual innuendos about Gabriel and Sam’s relationship as he can. It backfires, because Gabriel plays along with a mouth almost as bad, in spite of Sam’s bright red face and appalled expression.

Dean switches and takes aim at Castiel, using language so explicit it makes Sam blanch a little. It doesn’t take long for Castiel to have to step out of the room, because his tamped down Grace has him reacting in a human way to Dean’s taunting. Honestly, after the last time he and Dean met, it all makes him a little queasy.

After the second injection, Dean starts saying anything he can to hurt Sam. He blames Sam for Mary’s death, and rants about how Sam was like an anchor around his neck his entire life.

“It’s your fault I got dragged to Hell in the first place, dragging your lame ass out of the fire since… hmpf… forever.”

Sam finally steps out of the room when Dean mentions how Sam just up and walked off after getting sucked into Purgatory.

With the third injection, Dean turns on Castiel again, except this time he brings up every slight, every betrayal, every lie.

“You knew what Hell did to me, and you _still_ pushed me to torture Alastair.”

“You should have just sent me back to Hell when you had the chance, Cas. Back when you were threatening to because I wouldn’t toe the line.”

“You faked Crowley’s death, worked with him, and lied to all of us. I wouldn’t even _be_ a demon if it wasn’t for him!”

“Huh, always come when I call? What about all the times I needed you, and you ignored me?”

“I could have left Purgatory, left your ass there, but no, I wasted the better part of a year looking for your featherless ass, because you go and vanish without a single explanation, like you always do. Ad after all of that, you push me away.”

It goes on this way right up until it’s time for the next injection. Gabriel has to draw the fourth syringe, because Castiel’s hands are shaking too badly. Even so, he insists on administering the dose himself, and watches as Dean writhes and smokes with the latent Grace flowing through his bloodstream.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, Dean begins begging.

“Don’t do this, Cas.”

“I can’t live with myself.”

“Please, just stop. I don’t want to feel this.”

After the fifth injection, Dean begins confessing his own sins, how he failed his family, his father, Bobby, everyone. Tears run down his face, skin ruddy from exertion, and the heat of demon smut and Grace warring through his system.

With the sixth injection, Dean says he never deserved to be Michael’s vessel. It should have been him with the demon blood. Sam was always the good kid, why do that to his baby brother, it should have been him.

Dean continues his self-flagellating confessions after the seventh injection, which causes seizures.

“I don’t deserve you Cas, dunno why you think you love me, but you shouldn’t.”

“I’m broken, permanently tainted from Hell, useless to anyone but Crowley as a knight.”

“I’m just a no-good slut, Cas. I was going to rape you for Christ sakes.”

“You can’t put any faith in me. I don't know how to love anything without breaking it.”

Everyone I love dies, _you’re_ dying Cas.”

“I should have been able to stop all this, everything is my fault, you should have left me in Hell.”

“Just let me die, Cas. I can’t watch you waste away. Please. I don’t deserve any of this, or you.”

Sam comes back in before it’s time for the eighth and final dose. Castiel slices his hand and recites the incantation. He places his hand over Dean’s mouth, and holds it there. White light bursts from Dean, and he screams. He screams around Castiel’s palm, screams when he shouldn’t have a breath left in his lungs.

When the light fades, Dean is unconscious. The Mark is still on his arm, but paler, a less angry red. They sprinkle him with holy water, just to make sure, before carefully unshackling Dean and carrying him to his bedroom. Sam bursts into tears, remembering the last time Dean was laid down on his bed this way.

Castiel turns to Sam and pulls him closer. “He’s alive, Sam. Dean’s alive.” He places Sam’s hand over Dean’s heart, so he can feel it beat. “We did it. The Mark is still there, but he’s alive, no longer a demon.”

Gabriel runs his fingers through Sam’s hair and exits the room, leaving Sam and Castiel to keep vigil over Dean’s unconscious form. When he wakes about 10 hours later, Dean opens his eyes, looks between Sam and Cas, and says, “You look worried, fellas.”  

Sam hugs his brother tightly, and Castiel wraps his arms around them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Translation: I destroy this connection and restore the status/condition (as it was before), I free your mind and will from these chains.
> 
> There are some hellhound commands Dean uses, I don't provide translations for all of them, because they're kind of self explanatory with the action.


	6. When we hear the voices sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bunker gets a new family member, Heaven opens, the Mark is dealt with, things happen to Cas. Not too spoilery I hope?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't think of any triggers or content warnings, but let me know if I need to add some. Extra long chapter, but I was determined to put this to bed.
> 
> un-beta'd

_Take these broken wings_

_You've got to learn to fly_

_Learn to live and love so free_

_And when we hear the voices sing_

_The book of love will open up and let us in_

 - Mr. Mister: Broken Wings -

* * *

 

Castiel and Gabriel spend a couple more days in the Bunker after Dean is cured, to keep an eye on things. They don’t have the First Blade, so they’re hesitant to have Dean leave the bunker until they can find Crowley and the Blade. Dean spends most of his time either in his room or in the garage.

Castiel has had trouble speaking with Dean, who avoids him whenever they’re in the same room. He tried speaking with Sam about it, but Sam just told him, “Give him time. A lot’s happened, and he needs to work through it. That, and you know how he is with feelings.”

He had considered dreamwalking to speak with Dean, but Gabriel, in a moment of sympathetic clarity, told him to wait until Dean was ready. It’s difficult, because he just wants to tell him that he doesn’t hold him responsible for his actions in L.A. After all, Dean backed off before he did more than give Castiel a beating that he was more than willing to take, considering all he’s done to Dean.

While in the bunker, he finally got to know Charlie. Their first meeting had been when they had brought Dean back, and it hadn’t been the time for idle conversation. She is an ebullient spirit, and he can see why Dean gets along with her so well. She speaks her mind freely, and has had plenty to say about Castiel’s choices and, as she put it, the glacially slow romance between him and Dean. He also finds that even with his recent mental acquisition of human media, he still has trouble keeping up with half of the references she makes, how she will turn verbs to adjectives, and nouns to verbs, and will use the name of a character or TV series to describe an action.

Eventually they have to go back to Heaven, and since Dean seems to be recovering, Castiel thinks it’s for the best. After getting a promise from Sam that he won’t let Dean go on any hunts for a while, and receiving a very tight hug from Charlie, he goes to tell Dean goodbye. As expected, he finds him in the garage. Dean’s legs are sticking out from under an old Bentley, and Castiel approaches slowly.

After standing next to the car for some time with no response, Castiel clears his throat. He hears Dean stop banging around under there. The silence drags on for a moment, becoming more uncomfortable, before Dean finally says, “What.”

“I…” Castiel clears his throat again, “Gabriel and I need to go back to Heaven, and we haven’t properly talked since…” Does Dean babbling during his cure count? If not, then it would have been when he tracked Dean to that warehouse. Bringing up either topic might not be tactful. He lets the end of the sentence go unfinished.

There’s a clang as Dean tosses a tool to the floor, and he slides out from under the classic Bentley. He’s wearing faded, torn jeans and a holey black t-shirt. His hands and forearms are streaked with black, greasy dirt, and his forehead has a streak across it as well. Dean refuses to look up as he tries to wipe the grime from his hands with a rag. Castiel takes the time to get a good look at how his soul is recovering.

While still not very bright, Dean’s soul no longer looks… thin. The oppressive demonic haze no longer smothering it, Dean’s soul has filled back out to its normal size. It will take time and rest for his soul to fully recharge again. As it is, Castiel can see the way Dean’s thoughts weigh heavily on him. He wants so much to be able to comfort him, but the man keeps pulling away.

Eventually, Dean looks up, but anywhere other than Castiel’s face. “Yeah… so…”

Castiel takes a short step into Dean’s space, “Just, don’t think that what happened recently affects my feelings for you. We’ve been through much together, you and I.” Dean’s eyes roll, and Castiel presses on. “You didn’t give up on me, even though my transgressions were… much, much worse. Please don’t feel like I would give up on you for something that was not entirely your fault.”

Dean closes his eyes and clenches his jaw as an expression of pain washes over him. “Dude, right now… I just can’t, OK?”

“Yes Dean, I understand.” Castiel takes a step back, and watches Dean’s expression relax fractionally. “But when you are ready, you’ll call?”

Dean turns to the side and gives a non-committal half shrug, and replies, “Yeah, whatever, man.”

With a nod, Castiel turns and walks back to the door of the garage. Once there, he turns back around and watches as Dean sorts through a box of tools. Before, Castiel never understood the need for parting greetings. But now, he knows so many, and all with a different nuance. Should he just leave? ‘Goodbye’ seems too formal, final. ‘Talk to you later’ has the expectation of confrontation, and he doesn’t wish to pressure Dean. ‘See you later’ is almost too flippant. He stands there for a moment longer, watching Dean and sorting through the myriad parting greetings he now knows. None suffice.

Sighing, he turns back to the doorway, and whispers too low for Dean to hear, “I love you,” and heads back into the bunker.

*****

Sam and Gabriel are sitting on his bed, holding hands and trying to not say goodbye. They probably won’t see each other again until after Heaven is reopened, and then probably not very frequently for a while after that, as they try to reorganize a system that has been broken for far too long. Since Gabriel is the last of the archangels, he will more than likely be expected to take a leadership role, and Sam knows it’s not something he’s looking forward to. Gabe’s lived too long separate from his family, following his own set of rules.

“Maybe you can help set up some new rules?” Sam offers with a hopeful smile.

“Hah, you’ve met my family. How likely do you think that is?” Gabriel looks up at him with a wry smile.

“You never know, they might surprise you. They’ve spent long enough in human form, they’ve tasted free will.”

“That’s my Sam, always thinking positive.” Gabe leans up and places a kiss to the tip of Sam’s nose. “At least we’ll still be able to talk.”

Sam leans down and captures Gabe’s mouth with his own, and flicks his tongue, asking for entrance. Angelic lips part, and Sam delves into that sweet mouth, taking what he can while he still has time. They shift, pressing closer together, and Sam leans over so that they’re lying down, legs dangling off the edge and arms wrapped tight. He slips a knee between Gabe’s thighs, and receives a whining moan.

“Now that’s not fair, if we start this, it’ll just make it harder for me to leave.”

“Just a few minutes, Gabe. It won’t take that long.” Sam nibbles down Gabriel’s neck and presses his erection against his squirming angel.

“Yeah, that’s what you say, but the next thing we know, it’s an hour later and we’re both exhausted.” He manages to gently unwrap Sam’s hands, “And I’ve got the little seraph-that-could griping that it’s time to go, which means that the conversation with your brother didn’t go so hot.”

Frustrated, Sam flops back on his bed and throws an arm over his eyes. It really shouldn't be this difficult. He knows he’ll see Gabe in dreams like before, and they can talk on the phone or radio. Gabe kisses his chin.

“You want to walk me to the door?”

Sam clears his throat and squirms, his jeans uncomfortably tight. “Depends, you gonna make me go out there sporting a boner?”

Gabriel chuckles, and Sam removes the arm from his eyes to look up at him.

“Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you, especially with Charlie out there. She might tease you about it afterwards.”

Sam reaches out, and Gabriel clasps his hand, kisses his knuckles, and says softly, “Art thou my beloved?”

Unable to believe what a sap Gabriel is, Sam gets a goofy grin on his face before replying, “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”

Another kiss on the knuckles, and Gabriel steps away from the bed, and heads to the door. He turns around and says, “You better believe it,” waggling his eyebrows before closing the door behind him.

Sam huffs out a laugh and stays in his room until he’s sure Gabe and Cas have left, then goes to the kitchen to figure out what to do for lunch.

\- - -

After a day of watching Dean mope about the bunker, Sam decides that they should all go shopping. He has Charlie help him make up some hex-bags, and they drag Dean out to the Walmart in Hastings. They wander through the media section, with Charlie pointing out which movies and series she already has on her drive, ready to watch. After enough Buffy quotes and Game of Thrones references, they finally have Dean in a better mood. Then, they go over to the clothing section and they get Dean to laugh by making Sam try on shirts that are too small for him. Dean heads off by himself to the automotive section, but quickly returns to Charlie’s side when he realizes anything he would need is from an actual auto parts store. They load up a cart with frozen foods, yogurt, veggies, and meat before they finally make it out of the store and back home to the bunker.

While they’re unloading the Impala, Sam notices something just off to the side, at the edge of the treeline. After they finish bringing everything inside, he takes a quick look around. He finds a partially eaten deer carcass, no more than a day old. It’s odd, because they haven’t ever noticed any predators in the area before, or many deer for that matter. Telling himself he’ll need to move it away later and bury it, he heads back inside.

Sam forgets about the carcass until the next morning, when he goes for his jog. The only thing left where the deer remains had been is a blood stain and a couple tufts of skin and flesh. He mentions it to Charlie later, and she says that they should put up some cameras outside just in case. She has a couple of those wireless night-vision security cameras, and they install them when they know Dean’s occupied in the garage so he doesn’t get worried.

The next morning, Charlie calls Sam over to her computer and they watch as a whole cow carcass gets dragged past a camera’s field of vision by… absolutely nothing.

Well, if he looks hard enough, Sam thinks he can almost make out the vague shadow of something, but he’s not sure if it’s just his brain trying to make sense of the fact that it looks like the cow is being dragged away by something invisible. He and Charlie look at each other for a moment before he goes to his room to gather the demon knife and his gun. When he comes back out, Charlie is waiting with a shotgun and an angel blade.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon Sam. You know what Dean would say if he knew you were going off on your own. We both know that pretty much the only thing that doesn’t show up on camera that can haul a dead cow is probably something demonic. And I know you don’t want Dean out there if that’s the case.”

He hates it when Charlie’s right. “Okay, but you do what I say, alright?”

She nods enthusiastically and adds a flask of holy water for each of them. Sam disappears into the kitchen briefly, returning with a large canister of salt. They make their way out the heavy front door of the bunker, Sam in the lead, and he motions for Charlie to lay down a salt circle around the stairwell leading to the door before they head up to ground level.  With Sam motioning Charlie to stay back, he heads in the direction of where they saw the cow get dragged.

Luckily it has rained recently, and the drag-marks are easy to follow. Unfortunately, whatever was dragging the dead animal dragged the carcass over its own footprints. He follows the trail all the way to a nearby creek, where he sees some absolutely massive pawprints in the mud. This doesn’t look good. Memories of snarling, snapping jaws, and razor sharp teeth flash through his mind. After quickly taking a couple of pictures with his phone, he retreats, and chases Charlie back to the safety of the bunker.

When they make it back to the library, Dean’s sitting in front of the computer with a scowl, watching the security footage. “Been busy?”

Both Sam and Charlie look guilty, but before they can reply, Dean asks, “So what did you find?”

Sam shows him the pawprints, and he can’t help but notice Dean blanch at the size compared to Sam’s hand. Charlie sits down at her computer and starts babbling about natural predators, but Dean is already stomping off to his room. Yup, he has a feeling Dean knows exactly what’s out there. His fears are confirmed when Dean comes back out fully dressed, boots on, and the holy-fired glasses he used during the first trial to close Hell’s gates. Oh, oh no he’s not.

“Dean, what the hell?”

His brother brushes him aside, and heads for the stairs. Confused and worried at the fact that Dean is going outside completely unarmed, with only a pair of glasses, Sam follows with his gun in his waistband and knife in hand. Charlie pokes her head around the corner, and he motions for her to stay inside, before following Dean out the door.

Dean leaps up the stairs, and immediately begins whistling and calling out for… Scrappy? What the...? Sam catches up with him, and grabs Dean’s shoulder, spinning him around. Dean has the glasses on, and is scanning the horizon.

“Seriously man, what’s going on?”

“Not right now, Sammy. I’ll explain later.”

And with that, Dean heads off toward the tree line. Worried, Sam tags along behind. Just when he thinks he’s going to have to drag his brother back to the bunker, he swears there’s an answering… bark? Dean freezes and turns to look back at him, finally.

“Uh, Sammy, you might wanna head back inside.”

“Not gonna happen while you’re out here, Dean. You gonna tell me what’s going on now?”

Sam watches his brother make a face, and glance between him and the trees.

“He doesn’t know you’re friendly, Sammy. Just go inside, please.”

They compromise with Sam standing in the recessed stairwell as he watches Dean call out something he can’t quite place. Then he’s holding out his hands, and nearly gets tackled to the ground by… something. This is when he remembers what Gabriel had said about Dean when they caught him, and the strange words he’d called out that night. Wait, that Hellhound was DEAN’S?!?

***

As soon as Dean saw the footage of the cow getting dragged off, he had an inkling. When he saw the prints, he knew for sure. He’s not sure how Scrappy found him or got out of Hell on his own, but Dean needs to find him before something else comes looking. He calls out and presses his tongue to his teeth, giving a sharp whistle that echoes through the trees.  Before he can reach the trees, he hears a responding bark, and he knows it’s Scrappy.

He tries to get Sam to back off, but he decides right then to play the stubborn little brother card. After convincing Sam to at least get into the stairwell, he calls out again, calling “Niis,” (come) and holding his hands out at his sides. With the glasses, he can see the smoky shape of the Hellhound, even larger now, come bounding at him.

Even braced for impact, Scrappy almost bowls him over. Now that Scrappy’s in front of him, he can make out the heavy collar around his neck, and the broken chain dangling from it. The hound lowers his head submissively, and Dean grabs the collar, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around his neck and feeling how thin Scrappy is.

“What happened to you boy? How’d you end up here?”

With a happy yip, Scrappy begins thoroughly licking Dean’s face, knocking his glasses off. Dean hears Sam call out, and he turns to see a hilarious mixture of worry, shock and confusion on Sam’s face. Grabbing a handful of Hellhound scruff, Dean reaches down for the glasses and tosses them as close to Sam as he can manage. He soothes Scrappy, telling him to sit and stay, as he keeps an eye on his hesitant brother who sidles over to the glasses.

It’s freaking weird to touch something without seeing it, so he keeps his eyes on Sam as he wipes the drool off the glasses and slips them on his face, and he registers the shock of what it must look like, Dean kneeling before the huge beast that Scrappy’s become.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathes.

Chuckling to himself, Dean reaches a hand out to Sam. “C’mere, Sammy. Let’s get you introduced. Slow and low.”

His baby brother looks shocked at the idea, but Dean calmly keeps a grip on Scrappy’s scruff with one hand, whispering soothing commands, and shows Sam how to hold his hand out. Eventually Sam gets close enough for Dean to grab his wrist, and he pulls him close enough for the hound to sniff. Scrappy tenses for a moment before licking Sam’s shaking knuckles.

“What’s his body language, Sam?”

“What?” Sam yelps.

“I’ve got one hand on his scruff, the other on you, and I can’t see him. What’s he doing?”

“Uhhh…” Sam looks wide-eyed at the Hellhound before responding, “Its butt and tail are wagging.”

Dean lets out a relieved sigh. “Great, then he likes you!”

He lets go of Sam’s wrist and gives Scrappy a good scruffing. “That’s a good boy, you were just hungry, huh? How’d you get loose, huh?”

Sam stares agape as Dean finds a sensitive spot and he hears a happy noise come from Scrappy.

***

Sam cannot believe what he’s seeing right now. Dean’s eyes are alight for the first time in… he’s not even sure how long, and his face is suffused with joy as he wrestles with a supernatural animal that must weigh more than himself, that had recently brought down and dragged off a freaking cow. But this Hellhound is completely submissive to Dean. He can see it in the beast’s posture.

“Hey, Sam?”

He snaps out of his stupor to focus on Dean. “Yeah?”

“Can you go find some rope? The collar he’s wearing will work for now, but the chain isn’t long enough and I’ll need something for a leash.”

Dean wants a leash. For a Hellhound. Their lives are so damn weird. While he stumbles off back to the bunker’s entrance, Dean calls out and says he can bring Charlie out if she wants to meet Scrappy. And that’s another thing. He named an enormous Hellhound Scrappy?

He goes back inside, and finds Charlie glued to the computer screen where she’s watching Dean play with the invisible Hellhound. She seems much less frightened about the prospect of meeting it, and Sam goes and finds a length of rope before the gives Charlie the glasses and leads her outside.

Charlie reacts to the whole introduction and knuckle licking with an enthusiastic, “Holy crap this is so cool!” She’s less enthusiastic when it apparently starts licking her face, if her expression and disgusted noises are anything to go by.

Sam hands the rope to Dean who quickly ties a knot to an eyelet on the collar and stands, giving the animal another strange command. Charlie says, “Whoa, you just tell him to sit?”

Dean nods, and holds his hand out for the glasses. “I kinda need to make sure he reacts well to the bunker, so I need those. We can make more after we get Scrappy settled in.”

Wait, did Sam hear that correctly? Dean wants to bring a Hellhound into the bunker? “What? No, Dean!”

Dean slips the glasses back on, and looks at the apparently sitting invisible beast held by nothing more than Dean’s command and a length of rope. “Yeah, he’s fine, you’re cool to him now. He needs cleaning up, a warm place to sleep. No wonder he’s been eating cows, they’ve been starving him.”

At that, Dean pushes past and heads into the bunker, Charlie tagging behind. How did this happen? Sam’s the one who always wanted a dog, and Dean ends up with a Hellhound?

*****

Gabriel and Castiel are in a large conference room in Heaven, with a list of available angels and where they’ll need to be placed for the almost completed Song. Gabriel calls out each name, and Castiel hands them a scroll with their location and portion of the Song they will need to perform. Some are already practicing their frequencies and modulations quietly.

Castiel already knows he’ll be in the center of the Garden. As his Grace was the final key to sealing Heaven, they hope his low, infrasound tone will resonate better with the barrier sealing it off. He’ll be harmonizing with two other angels there. Galgaliel, one of the angels overseeing the operation, will be controlling the timing from the Earth side of Metatron’s door. Speaking of Metatron, one angel will be guarding him during all this, to make sure he stays silent and doesn’t disrupt the Song. Gabriel has to spend time helping transport other angels to their proper positions as conventional, wingless travel would take an inordinate amount of time, and in some cases would be impossible, with several angels stationed in the vacuum of space.

As the time for the Song approaches, everyone settles into position. Castiel finds the central-most position in the Garden, at the base of a tree. He sits cross-legged and flares the vestigial wings that Gabriel’s Grace bestowed upon him. Through the consciousness of every angel pings the signal to begin. Deep in his stomach, Castiel begins the rumbling notes he has been assigned to create. Once he has the correct frequency, he increases volume. Holding the modulated note, Castiel can feel the air around him, the ground below vibrate along with him. He settles into the Song, and can start to pick out the Song of others, their notes blending, resonating, building along with his.

Another signal, and they shift frequency just slightly, all together, and he can feel it. The barrier between those inside Heaven and those without. All his brothers and sisters connected like this, they feel the barrier begin to tremble with their sustained note. Galgaliel, acting like a conductor, signals once more, and the lower pitched angels increase volume, as the higher frequencied angels shift tone and pitch. The shift causes a sharp resonance from the barrier, and it strains, warping out of place before it suddenly gives way.

As Heaven’s barrier collapses, several angels break from the Song, some with sighs of relief, others burst into ancient songs of praise, and it blends like a melody. Feeling more in touch with his siblings than he has in quite some time, Castiel basks in their unity and their joy at Heaven being open once more. One by one the Songs cease, and Castiel finally drops his prolonged note as exhaustion overcomes him. It used more Grace than he realized it would.

\- - -

Castiel awakens on a bed. It’s narrow and plain, and he’s in a darkened room with light shining from from a grate set low in the room's door and from underneath it. Sitting up, he realizes he’s in the bunker. Why is he here? Did Gabriel bring him? This must be a guest room. Fingers trailing across the rough bedspread, Castiel stands up and goes to the door, opening it to find an empty hallway.

He wanders the halls until he comes to a door he recognizes. Dean’s room. Hand reaching out of its own volition, he opens the door and sees the room much as it was the last time he saw it. While Castiel stands in the doorway, the lights go out, replaced a second later by a dim red glow. Alarmed, Castiel makes his way to the war room. Apparently, the Winchesters aren’t here.

“Sam? Dean? Charlie?” He calls out, but receives no answer.

In the library, he finds the radio designed for communicating with Heaven smashed to pieces and scattered about. Increasingly worried, Castiel searches the common areas and find no sign of anyone in the bunker. Heading back to the sleeping quarters to look for clues, he turns a corner and is face-to-face with Dean, black-eyed and holding the First Blade. Dean smirks at him before swinging, and slicing Castiel’s throat.

Jerking awake, Castiel finds himself resting against a tree, still in the Garden in Heaven. Something’s wrong. Angels don’t dream, he must get back to the bunker. He rushes to the office with the radio that connects to the one in the bunker, but he receives no answer. While Heaven may now be open, Castiel is too weak, and his wings are too small for flight. Gabriel finds him on his way to Metatron’s door, and stops him.

“Hey, whoa there Columbo, where are you headed?”

Castiel explains his distress, and Gabriel pats him on the shoulder, assuring him that everything is just fine. After some delegation of duties, Gabriel takes him to the bunker to find it locked. Using a cell phone, they give the boys and Charlie a call, only to discover that they’re in the Impala. Everyone seems fine, and they’re all taking a trip to a lake, to take Charlie fishing. After exchanging pleasantries and assurances, Castiel lets Gabriel take him back to Heaven.

While sequestered once again in Heaven, Castiel feels useless. The other angels will now be able to molt new feathers in order to properly fly again. He will more than likely stay flightless for the rest of his existence, unable to regrow his real wings, let alone molt flight feathers. It would take massive amounts of Grace to get proper wings, but it will still burn out of him since he’s no longer a proper angel. He isn’t really anything anymore. What’s he supposed to do?

Over the next few days he helps Gabriel reorganize Heaven. Hannah is put in an administrative position of power working closely with Gabriel to restructure what’s left of the angels. Carefully, thoughtfully, they find ways to return the vessels taken after the Fall so as to disturb their lives the least. There is more memory altering than he is generally comfortable with.

Castiel can feel what’s left of his Grace slowly draining, and he tries to distract himself by spending time in the library they used for research in opening Heaven. Aimlessly, he digs through books and scrolls, not really knowing what to do with himself. Back in a far, dusty corner, he finds a crumbly, sealed scroll. It’s marked with the seal of Raziel, one of the few angels other than Metatron in charge of the chronicling of knowledge. Opening the scroll with gentle hands, he finds something that gives him hope. While Gabriel is occupied, Castiel slips out through Metatron’s door, still open for those who have yet to finish molting or have wing damage from the Fall, and drives to the bunker.

\- - -

When he arrives, he finds the Winchesters have returned. Suddenly anxious, Castiel knocks on the solid metal door. Sam answers and steps outside to join him. This is new, and odd.

“Sam, is there something wrong?”

“Oh, no no no.” Sam quickly raises his hands, “It’s just this one thing…”

Through the door, Castiel can sense a presence, and then low barking, like that of a large dog. “Sam, did you finally get your wish for a canine companion?”

He watches Sam shift awkwardly before answering, “About that, it’s not really mine…”

Sam explains that Dean ended up raising a Hellhound, and that it apparently escaped its custody and followed Dean’s trail to the bunker. This disturbs Castiel greatly, because Hellhounds are vicious. How can they possibly house one safely in the bunker?

“Sam, have you told Gabriel about this yet?”

He watches Sam’s face contort into a worried frown. “I haven’t really had the chance to speak with him yet. Isn’t he supposed to be busy up in Heaven?”

“Of course, I had simply assumed you two would have found a way to keep in contact. But then again, his leadership role has kept him excessively occupied of late. My apologies for mentioning anything.”

Sam’s face relaxes marginally, but his mouth remains a tight line. “Yeah… Anyway, about the… dog.”

Apparently, via explanation, while the Hellhound has reacted well to both Sam and Charlie, they’re unsure how it will react to Castiel’s angelic Grace. Castiel thinks about what he knows of canine behavior, then sheds his overcoat.

“Here, present this to the hound and see how it reacts. If it’s favorable, then we can undergo the greeting ritual.”

Castiel had not expected the delay, and he feels fatigue bearing down on him. After the long drive from the Door, he had hoped for the seclusion of a guest room and some rest. He pushes the coat into Sam’s hands, and steps back to sit upon the steps leading to the bunker’s entry.

“I’ll wait here for an answer.”

Finally seeming to catch on to Castiel’s weariness, Sam stumbles back through the door. While he waits, Castiel stretches his spine and rolls his neck, working out the increased discomfort his body experiences from the drain of Grace. He also notices the passage of time more acutely. As the minutes stretch on for what feels like an inordinate amount of time, Castiel goes over in his mind how he will tell Dean about what he found in the scroll. With what he’s discovered, perhaps he can once again convince Dean that he is worth saving.

The click of the bunker door’s latch catches Castiel’s attention, and he straightens as Sam backs out of the doorway, a pair of reading glasses in his hand, Castiel’s overcoat slung over his arm.

“So, that went well.” Sam looks up at Castiel and hands him the coat. “You ready to meet Scrappy?”

Castiel nods, and Sam turns back to the door. “Let me just go get him. When I open the door again, hold very still and let him sniff you. OK?”

“Yes, Sam. I will wait, very still, right here.”

With a nod, Sam disappears back inside. It’s not long before the door slowly reopens and a massive, dark canine head appears through it. Castiel can’t help but stiffen at the appearance of the Hellhound, how its claws scrabble against the concrete to exit the bunker as Sam, now wearing the glasses, struggles to hold it back with a length of leash. From his seated position, Castiel is eye to eye with the beast. They ponder each other for a moment, before the Hellhound lowers its head to sniff at Castiel’s knee. Then it snuffles at the trenchcoat in his lap. Next, it sniffs Castiel’s face, and he holds very still as a faint whiff of sulfur and dog-breath blows against his face. Apparently satisfied, the animal sits down on its haunches and looks up at Sam with expectation.

Sam had been staring behind Castiel, where his vestigial wings would be showing, but he doesn’t say anything. His attention back on the hound, Sam pulls a dog biscuit from his pocket, which Scrappy gingerly accepts from his palm. Sam glances back up, looking over Castiel’s shoulder. Oh, the glasses allow him to see the Hellhound, and probably the pitiful excuse for wings Castiel currently has. Tucking the vestigial wings tightly, he straightens his back and clears his throat.

“Oh, uh… looks like you pass, Cas. Ready to come inside?”

With a nod, Castiel slowly stands and follows Sam and Scrappy the Hellhound into the bunker. There’s something unusual about this hound, and Castiel is having trouble figuring out exactly what it is. Once they’re down the stairs, Sam unclips the leash and Scrappy trundles off down a hallway, taking his glasses off as a courtesy.

They sit down at the map table, and Castiel explains how Heaven is recovering. Sam talks about how they found Scrappy, got used to having the enormous animal around the bunker, then went to the lake. Castiel feels a pang of regret that he missed such an event. When he asks where Charlie is, Sam says she’s at a convention, and will be gone for a week. Feeling his weariness weigh upon him, Castiel just nods.

“Hey, it’s about time for Dean to take Scrappy for a walk. You wanna go say hi?”

Shaking his head, Castiel slumps in his seat. While he would like to see Dean, there’s much they need to discuss, and he would prefer to so while not exhausted. “Perhaps you could show me where I may rest and refresh myself?”

“Oh,” Sam looks abashed, “Yeah, sorry, kinda forgot about the whole Grace thing. How’re you holding up?”

“Well enough,” Castiel shrugs, “Although the opening of Heaven has taken its toll.”

Sam shows him to the same room he was to have had when he came to the bunker as a human. He flips the overhead switch and tells Castiel to rest well before leaving him alone. Castiel closes the door and sits upon the bed. It’s not as narrow as the one in his dream, but the blanket is scratchy wool. After removing his coat and shoes, Castiel lays down, head resting on the down-stuffed pillow, and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to shut off the light, doesn’t want to see the light from the hallway shining through the grate and from under the door. With a sigh, Castiel closes his eyes and  waits for the unconsciousness that will allow his mind and body rest.

***

Dean’s in the kitchen, watching fried chicken brown in a cast iron skillet. He frowns at it, wondering if he really needed to add a couple extra pieces for Cas. Oh well, if he doesn’t eat them, there’ll be leftovers for tomorrow. There’s a large bowl of potato salad cooling in the fridge, and Sam had given him side-eyes  while he’d made it. What? It’s not like Dean hasn’t made potato salad before. Maybe it was the bacon he’d put in it. That and the mayo will pretty much guarantee Sam stays out of it, the health freak. Potatoes are a vegetable, kinda. And there’s pickles. Pickles are green. Sam just rolls his eyes whenever Dean points that out, though.

While he’s transferring the chicken onto a plate layered with paper towels, Cas stumbles into the kitchen. Yeah, so maybe there’s a reason for the potato salad, and the shucked ears of corn waiting to get boiled. When it’s just Dean and Sam, he doesn’t feel like trying so hard. While Charlie’s been here, Dean’s tried new recipes. But after he heard Cas was sleeping in a guest room down the hall, all he could think about was making up for all the times he’s failed the dude. He looks from the draining chicken, to the corn, then up at Cas, who is rolling his neck and running fingers through sleep-mussed hair, staring at the floor. There’s a tug in Dean’s chest he’s trying to ignore, and he clears his throat. Cas looks up, and Dean can see a wary, questioning look in his eyes.

“So, um… I’ve been cooking, and I wasn’t sure if you would wanna eat. I made extra, if you feel like it.”

Cas nods, and gives the chicken a dubious look. “I don’t need to yet, but I understand sharing a meal is part of camaraderie. I may have a small portion.”

Dean turns away with a smile, lowering the flame under the pot of water that just started boiling when he hears, “Where’s the— Scrappy? I understand that a Hellhound is part of the household now?”

Smile widening, Dean reaches for the corn and slides the ears into boiling water one at a time. “Yeah, we’ve always managed to gather the oddballs into our little family unit, huh Cas?”

There’s a noncommittal grunt from behind as he places a lid on the pot and checks the clock so he’ll know when the corn’s done. “I’ve got him locked up in the garage while I cook. Otherwise, there might not be anything left over for us humans to eat.”

He gives Cas a half smile and remembers the time he’d tried making meatloaf and how Scrappy had devoured the ground beef before Dean had even gotten an egg cracked. Even though he’s been working on training the hound to not get into food without permission, Dean just has too much on his mind right now without worrying if Scrappy’s trying to snag a chicken leg off the counter.

What has been occupying most of his attention is standing in front of him, wearing a wrinkled shirt and slacks, with socked feet. Dean glances at the clock, “I gotta keep an eye on the corn. You mind letting Scrappy out of the garage for me?”

Cas stares at the chicken again, “Is that a wise idea?”

“You have a point.” Dean places the plate of fried chicken into the oven, then turns back to face Cas. “There, now he can’t get to it before we’re ready to eat.”

Cas still hesitates, so Dean says, “C’mon, Sam said you guys met without a single problem, so it’s all good. Just make sure you’re not standing in the doorway when you let him out, or he’ll bowl you over.”

Still wearing a concerned look, Cas nods and exits the kitchen, and Dean pulls out a pair of glasses and slips them on. Not long after that, Dean hears the clacking of Scrappy’s claws on the floor as he comes barreling in from the garage. He slides around the corner and throws his front paws up on the stainless steel counter, tongue lolling out. Dean shakes his head, and shoves at the animal’s head, saying “Ipamis”, which makes Scrappy whine, but take his feet off the counter.

Dean looks up and sees Cas, and wings. He shouldn’t be surprised to see them through the glasses, but he still pauses to watch them ruffle as Cas watches Scruffy. He has that constipated thinking look on his face as he watches the hound intently. Dean was afraid it would take the guy a while to get used to a Hellhound being loose in the bunker, hopefully he’ll work things out for himself soon. He hopes Cas can hang around for a while, they need to clear some things between them.

The corn’s done, so Dean calls to Scrappy and tells him to go find Sam. After digging out steaming corn from the pot with tongs and placing it on the counter, he looks up to find Cas staring into space with a frown. “Dude, seriously. What’s up? It looks like you’re processing the questions of the universe over there.”

Cas looks up, and the crease between his brows deepens for a second before easing. “Sorry, Dean. I do have much to think about.”

Sighing, Dean pulls out some plates and hands them to Cas. “Well, remember what normally happens when we think too hard and don’t share with the class? Bad things, usually.”

Aw shit, and there go Cas’ shoulders, his head hanging to stare at the floor again. _Way to go, Winchester. Go and ruin the moment_. Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Scrappy comes back in, panting happily and wagging his tail. It can wait till after they eat, he thinks, and scratches his Hellhound behind the ears.

With Sam’s help, they dodge Scrappy with the dishes, get the table set, and dig in. Scrappy gets a bowlful of his own food and he finishes it quickly, before begging at the table. Dean hands him an ear of corn, which he enthusiastically gnaws upon.* Cas looks up from his own corn which Dean had insisted on sprinkling with some kind of seasoning called Tajin, “ _Trust me, it’s awesome_ ”.

“Dean, should he be eating the cob like that?”

Dean looks down to see Scrappy chewing through the cob and swallowing chunks of it. “Dude, he’s not a normal dog. He could probably eat chocolate and not even feel it. You should have seen the things I saw him eat in—”

Realizing what he was about to say _Hell_ , Dean looks down at his own plate and scoops up a forkful of potato salad. “It’s fine, Cas.”

The rest of their meal is eaten in relative silence, with Sam throwing glances between Dean and Cas. Dean notices that Cas eats most of the small portions on his plate, and then spends the rest of the meal whispering to Scrappy, petting and examining the hellhound. Dean’s not sure what’s up with that, but Scrappy seems to love it, and looks up at Cas with the dopiest eyes he’s ever seen. Dean wonders if he sometimes looks at Cas like that, too.

Sam clears his throat, thanks Dean for the meal, and then says he has to go run some errands over at Smith Center, does he need anything? Dean tells him no, and realizes that with Sam gone, it will be easier to talk with Cas. Before he leaves, Sam gives Dean one of those meaningful looks, silently telling him to deal with shit. Dean returns it with a look meant to say that he will, as soon as his brother gets his long-ass hair out of their space.

After telling Cas he’ll see him later, Sam heads out, and Dean starts cleaning up. Cas helps take the dishes to the sink, and watches Dean wrap up the leftovers and put them in the fridge. With that done, Dean wonders if he should wash dishes, _no he’s not trying to stall_ , but then Cas speaks up.

“Dean, I need to speak about something with you.”

Oh, well he wasn’t planning on it happening right now… “D’you wanna go to the library? More comfortable than hanging around in the kitchen.”

Cas nods quickly, and they leave the kitchen and cross over to the library. Scrappy follows, and Cas stops to watch as he lopes through the doorway and settles into a little blanket nest in the corner. Dean goes to the sideboard where they keep the liquor and he pours himself some bourbon for the talk ahead. He has a feeling he might need it. When he sits down, Cas is still staring over at Scrappy.

“Dude, you still got a problem with him?”

Startled from his thoughts, Cas turns to look at him, “Dean, you raised this one, right?”

“Yeah, Crowley dragged me down to pick one from his personal hound’s litter.” He tells Cas about how he was the runt of the litter, and probably wouldn’t have survived if he hadn't accidentally picked the pup.

Cas asks about the markings he had as a puppy, and how they’ve changed since. Dean remembers the spots and stripes, which faded as Scrappy’s coat darkened with age. When Cas asks if he trained Scrappy differently from the others, Dean mentions he didn’t send him to the vicious hound-fights the other demons would hold for sport.

“Have you not noticed how different he looks from the other Hellhounds, Dean?”

Well, yeah, he has. Scrappy doesn’t look as mean as the others, because he didn’t train him to be that way. When he says this, Cas purses his lips.

“Dean, haven’t you noticed that dog’s ability to travel all over the bunker without impedance?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Watch this.” Cas calls Scrappy to him, and he takes him over to where there are sigils inlaid across the threshold and they walk across together. Then he leads him to where there are other symbols inlaid around the war room. Dean stops to look at one of the symbols they walked over, and the implication hits him like a sack of bricks. Scrappy walked over a devil’s trap and didn’t get stuck. He hadn’t even thought about the symbols across the thresholds, and they should at least make it uncomfortable for a Hellhound to cross.

Cas and Scrappy walk back over to Dean, who looks at the hazy image of the Hellhound he raised through his glasses. “What’s it mean, Cas?”

“Why do you use Enochian commands?”

Well, there’s a question. Dean always thought it had something to do with wanting words that weren’t used regularly. But Cas tells him that the origins of Hellhounds goes all the way back to the original Fall.

Cas tells him that once, there used to be a breed of animal used as celestial companions, messengers, and they would even assist reapers ferry souls. When Lucifer Fell, he took many of the animals with him, and used them for his own purposes. Over time, certain traits were bred into them, and they became the more vicious Hellhounds they know of today. But that’s the thing with breeding. Every now and again, the ancestral traits can represent themselves.

“Dean, you say Scrappy’s dark coat obscured his markings as he aged, correct?” Dean nods, “But have you been able to properly see him through those glasses lately?”

Cas has a point there. While the glasses allow them to see Scrappy, the details are a little hazy. When Cas asks Dean for the glasses, he hands them over. After a moment of inspection, Cas murmurs something and hands them back.

“Try them now.”

As Dean slips them on, he can immediately tell the difference. Cas’ wings are clearer, and he can see the deep bronze color he remembers from before the cure. But when he looks at Scrappy, it’s almost like looking at a completely different animal. His once-dark coat is much lighter now, and the spots and stripes that he remembers from when he was just a pup are more visible. Heck, Scrappy’s coat is an even lighter grey than before.

“Uh, Cas? What does this mean?”

A small smile graces Cas’ lips, “It means, that since you rescued an animal that would not have normally survived its early formative stages in Hell, and raised it with different methods than normal, Scrappy isn’t really a Hellhound, Dean. He’s something else now.” He turns to face Dean, who is still a bit stunned, and says, “The righteous man, once raised from Perdition, has himself raised a righteous beast.”

Dean can’t help but snort at the absurd way it sounds, but he kind of likes the sound of it, that Scrappy won’t carry the taint of Hell around with him. “Dude, please tell make there aren’t any prophecies about this.”

Cas turns to watch Scrappy, who has wandered back over to his pile of blankets. “Not that I know of, but it brings me back to what I originally wished to discuss with you.”

They sit back down at the table where Dean had left his drink, before Cas says, “I can remove the Mark, Dean.”

 _WHAT_? Luckily, Dean hadn’t taken a mouthful of liquor, or it would have gotten sprayed. “Dude. Seriously? How?”

Cas explains that even though his own mark no longer shows on Dean’s skin, the bond that was created is still there, and Dean still carries some residual Grace from being raised from Perdition and healed. Dean realizes he’s brought his hand to his shoulder, where Cas’ handprint used to show like a brand. Then Cas explains that through the bond, since it was created before the Mark, they should be able to purge Cain's Mark from his system. With this swirling through his head, Dean takes a gulp from the glass resting in his hand, and feels the burn all the way down to his belly. It can’t be that simple. Before he can say anything, Cas pulls put a rolled up scrap of something that looks downright ancient.

“What’s that, Cas?”

“An old scroll of Raziel, keeper of God’s Mysteries. As Metatron was a scribe of history, Raziel kept knowledge only celestial beings were meant to know.”

“What happened to him?”

“Lost, attacked by one of Lucifer’s followers a very long time ago. This scroll tells of how to remove the Mark, Dean. We can do this. But it must be soon, before my power fades further.”

This doesn’t sound good. “What about you, Cas?”

The look on Cas’ face confirms it. “There’s no hope for me Dean. Either I cannibalize my siblings for the rest of my existence or I burn out. At least let me help you.”

No, nonono. This isn’t supposed to be the way this happens. “Dammit, Cas. if there’s a way out for me, then there is for you too.”

Cas gives him a sad smile, and it pierces straight through his chest. “It’s alright Dean. I have seen so much and it’s alright for me to end it this way.”

Son of a goddamn— Dean picks up his glass and chucks it at a wall, and it shatters, making Scrappy jump. He falls to his knees in front of Cas, clinging to the angel’s arms, pleading. “You can’t do this Cas, you just can’t.”

He watches Cas’ hands ball into fists, “So what, are you going to watch me slowly burn out instead?” His voice is husky and shaking with emotion, “At least let me do something useful with what’s left.”

***

They continue to argue about it, and when Sam returns, Dean’s crumpled on the floor, clinging to Scrappy like a lifeline. Cas is resting his head in his arms on the table, his shoulders tense. By the time Sam finally gets one of them to talk, they go through all of it again.

When they finally realize that Castiel refuses to back down from this, the mood becomes somber. They try to delay it, Dean especially.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow, that way we can… I dunno… throw you a party or something,” says Dean.

But Castiel doesn’t want a party, he doesn’t want to drag this out any longer than it already has been. If he waits until tomorrow, then he’ll be willing to wait _just another day more_ , until he doesn’t have enough Grace to perform what must be done. As it is, he’s afraid what he has now still won’t be enough to burn the Mark from Dean. He stands firm, and eventually the Winchesters relent.

They decide to do it outside. They go around the back of the bunker to an empty clearing, far enough away that the power surge shouldn’t trigger the bunker’s alarms. Hopefully. Castiel tells Sam the release of Grace might be dangerous, so he should stay away, back in the bunker. He thanks Sam for everything he’s done, and apologizes for treating him so harshly when they first met. Sam pulls him into a tight hug, and he thanks Castiel for everything, all the times he’s saved them, saved Dean.

Castiel thinks of how he messed up, and says with a hint of sarcasm, “You want to thank me for everything? Even pulling your body out of the Pit soulless? Then breaking the wall in your head? And let’s not forget the Leviathan…”

“You wouldn’t be an honorary Winchester without screwing up on occasion.” Sam steps away, and he and Dean embrace, then touch foreheads before Sam says he’ll see his brother again soon.

Sadly, Castiel watches Sam walk away. He turns to Dean,  to discover he’s crying. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

Dean averts his eyes and hastily wipes away tears. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

Stepping into Dean’s space, Castiel feels his heart lurch, and places a palm on Dean’s cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’m sorry, but please let me have my one wish. I will always be here,” he places his other hand over Dean’s heart, “Even if I’m no longer physically here.”

“But Cas…”

He leans forward and kisses Dean, “No. these are our last moments, I don’t want them to be sad.” Stepping back, he holds Dean’s eyes with his own, “Smile for me?”

And Dean does, a broken, tear-streaked and lopsided smile. Castiel has Dean kneel, and he draws a circle in the dirt around them. He kneels in front of Dean, strips back the always-there second shirt, and places his hand where his palmprint used to be, skin-on-skin.

“Dean, you must freely accept the bond, and the Grace I am about to imbue upon you. The mark must be burned out from the inside.” Dean swallows and then nods.

“This may be more painful than the demon cure, but it won’t last as long.”

A choked scoff falls from Deans lips, “Now you tell me. I really don’t want you to do this, Cas. But is there nothing else I can do to change your mind? Anything.”

“No Dean, I’m at peace with myself. Hopefully this will atone for all the wrong I've done.”

Before Dean can say anything else, Castiel places his lips to Dean’s, and he opens his mouth, allowing the wisps of the last of his Grace to flow into Dean. His hand firmly on Dean’s shoulder, he reaches for the connection forged by hauling his soul up from the depths of Hell, and healing the damage. this causes a circuit, and he can feel Dean tense with the strain that angelic Grace is placing on the roots the mark has grown into Dean. The man convulses, and Castiel uses the last of his strength to hold on tightly, one arm wrapped around Dean’s back, the other latched onto his shoulder. He pictures his Grace surging through Dean, uprooting the hold the Mark of Cain has upon him, and he pulls out the tendrils one by one.

Finally, after what feels like much longer than it must have been, Dean sags against him. Mouths still sealed together, Castiel can feel his Grace burn away the last remnants of the Mark. He feels the Grace inside him resonate through the bond with Dean, and for one glorious moment, he feels the resonance of his old Grace. As the Grace burns away, he can feel consciousness slipping.

Castiel’s arms drop their sides, Dean catches him and tries to maintain the connection. “Cas, don’t leave me, please.” With a last strength of will, Castiel opens his eyes to see he is surrounded by his siblings, glowing brightly, blinding.

***

Dean can’t be losing Cas, not now. not after everything they've been through. Removing the Mark was painful, yes. But he recovers just enough to see Cas’ life fade before his very eyes. “No, stay with me buddy.”

Desperate, he prays. to God, to Gabe, to whoever the hell will hear him. Then, suddenly, Gabriel’s there. And not just him. A whole fucking _flock_ of angels appears around him, as he holds Cas limp in his arms.

“You here to rub it in? Fuck all y’all," he growls, pulling Cas’ body to himself.

Gabriel comes forward wearing an enigmatic smile, and places a hand on Dean’s head. Peace begins to flow through him. He fights it. He wants to miss Cas. It’s his right to mourn his friend, his family, his love. Dean tries to shake the hand Gabe placed on his head, but he’s rendered immobile. Around him, the angels open their mouths and he feels like he’s going to explode, their true voices rattling his bones. He could barely take Cas saying hello that first time years ago, how’s he supposed to handle this?

Gabriel leans forward and places a kiss on Cas’ forehead, whispering something against his skin. Cas’ body begins to fill with light, and Dean doesn’t know what’s happening, but he clings tight, even when he feels like his eyes are bleeding from the glow. He tries to scream, but he can’t tell over the bright heat burning through him. Through all the eardrum-popping noise and eye-bleeding light, Dean can feel a whisper, a tickle at the back of his brain, something asking for permission. Whatever it is feels _right_ , so he says _yes_ in his head. He’s probably fucking himself over right now, but in his grief over Cas, he’s not thinking clearly.

Suddenly it’s all gone. It’s just Cas, limp in his arms, a burned circle of grass where the angels stood, and Gabe kneeling with his hand still on Dean’s head. Dean hunches over and buries his face in Cas’ chest. Gabriel pulls away, but doesn’t leave. While he’s crying into Cas’ shirt, that’s when Dean realizes there’s a heartbeat. And his lungs are pulling and releasing air.

What?

He looks up with gritty, blurred vision and Gabriel’s grinning at him. With a wink, Gabe vanishes, Dean’s hearing stops ringing, and he’s left alone with Cas’ unconscious, but breathing and ALIVE body.

“Cas?” his voice wavers and cracks, as he cups his friend’s face in his palm. “You in there buddy?”

A twitch of the eyebrows, and then blue, blue eyes open and meet his. He never thought seeing blue would ever feel so damn good.

“Dean? what happened? How am I…”

Dean kisses him, too overjoyed and not willing to question what happened to bring his angel back to him. he squeezes tightly, until Cas complains he can’t breathe.

“Sorry.” He pulls back to look Cas over. “Dude, are you human?”

“I… it’s strange.” Cas raises a hand and looks at it, flexing his fingers. I can’t really feel any grace, but I can see your soul… sort of… I’m not quite sure…”

“But it’s you? It’s Cas in there?”

“Yes Dean, it’s me.”

After another moment of bewildered rejoicing, they help each other hobble back to the bunker. Sam’s in shock at the sight of the both of them. He crushes his brother in his arms, while an invisible Scrappy barks around them. Sam only lets go so he can then turn to Cas and do the same to him. While he watches Sam try to squeeze the impossible life from Cas, Dean stretches his fingers out for Scrappy, who presses his invisible head into Dean’s hand.  

Eventually, Sam lets go of Cas and asks, “What happened? Is the Mark…”

Dean shows Sam his inner arm, completely free from any evil marks. “It’s gone, Sammy.”

“But Cas… how?”

This is when Gabriel decides to show up again. “Hi guys, I can answer those questions for ya, but can we go inside first?”

After a quick introduction to Scrappy, to which Gabe reacts well at the sight of the not-quite-a-Hellhound sniffing him up, they go back into the bunker, Dean and Cas leaning heavily on each other as they lead the way. Dean bypasses the map table and heads straight for the library where he carefully places Cas into a leather chair, before flopping into one beside him. They watch as Sam holds Gabe back and they whisper at each other.

Sam finally backs off and Gabe comes to stand in front of where Dean and Cas are seated. “So... you’re a nephilim, Cassie.”

“ _What?!_?” Sam, Cas, and Dean all say in unison.

“Well, sort of. Technically, they’re the offspring of angel and human, but we all got together and figured you deserved to _be_ , Cas. So we figured out how to keep you around.” He pouts, “And you would have known about it if you hadn’t gone sneaking off when you did.”

“So what does this mean?” Cas asks.

“Well, it means no more wings, sorry about that. And you’ll age, grow old with this big lugnut here.”  He jerks a thumb at Dean. “But, you can see lots of supernatural entities well enough. I take it you can see the small pony in the room?”

Dean looks around, unable to see Scrappy, but Cas nods.

“And you’ve got a few other goodies inherent to nephilim.”

Dean interrupts Gabe to ask, “How’d this happen? If you knew you could do this before, why didn’t you mention it?”

Gabe rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t sure it would actually work in the first place, and I needed enough fully-powered angels to pull it off, so it was a no-go until the barrier to Heaven came down. I didn’t know what was even happening until I felt you pray so damn hard, so I scrambled whoever I could and got to you ASAP.”

Still suspicious, Dean keeps pressing. “And I have the feeling that’s not all, is it? Something else happened back there, and it’s tied to all this, isn’t it.”

Now Gabe gets a sheepish look, and he holds up a finger. “Give the boy a cookie! Yes, there was one other big ' _IF_ ' we weren’t sure about, but thank Dad you didn't fight me on it.”

“Gabriel, what did you do?” Cas is trying to sit up and is glaring at his brother.

“Well, we all knew you and Dean have a bond and all that, but for it to work, you had to have a little bit of soul to make it all stick. So I took some of Dean’s.”

Whoah. So that’s what that one part was? “Wait, so Cas has a part of my soul?”

A big grin spreads across Gabriel’s face, "Yep! You guys are now literally soulmates.”

Dean stares at Cas, and Cas stares back, reaching for Dean’s hand and holding it tightly. His voice shakes when he speaks, “You gave permission to use your soul for me?”

Okay, so he didn’t know that’s what was going on at the time, but pretty much. “Yeah. You know I’d have done almost anything to not lose you.”

Dean watches as a tiny smile curls the edges of Cas’ mouth, and  he can’t believe they survived this. He soaks up the sight of Cas, and on the other side of the room, Gabe says, “C’mon, Sam. they’re gonna need some alone time. Let’s get outta here for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *NEVER feed a real dog corn cobs. Corn's OK, but the cob will block their intestines.
> 
> There will be one more work after this, mostly porn (Because I want to end this one here, but I really want some Happy Ending after the emotional rollercoaster I've put y'all through.)  
> Don't expect anything soon, I've got other projects and stuff to deal with.
> 
> I gotta say, when I started this series, it was just supposed to be dream-porn. But then I was listening to "Broken Wings" by Mr. Mister, and I suddenly knew how to fix Heaven.


End file.
